


Lily's Reach

by Zoop (zoop526)



Series: Orsimer Dovahkiin [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adultery, Betrayal, Cannibalism, F/M, Gang Rape, Imprisonment, Loss of Virginity, Rape, Rape Recovery, Romance, keeping secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:49:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 63,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoop526/pseuds/Zoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Across the province from the first dragon's appearance, Lily suffers cruelly and seeks refuge among the Orcs, urging Ghorbash the Iron Hand to apply gentler methods for a change. Same universe as "Duty Calls".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Delicate Flower

Lily wept, a fist shoved in her mouth to stifle any sound. Wedged between a musty, linen-wrapped corpse and the back wall of its alcove, her horrified eyes watched helplessly as men and women she knew, who had greeted her on the streets of Markarth, who had visited her own house, were slain by the Thalmor Justiciars in the name of Jarl Igmund. Among them were her own mother and father. The high stone ceilings of the Halls of the Dead rang with shouts, screams, sword clashes, then an almost deafening silence.

She watched as they dragged the bodies into a row, identifying each one and recording the names, their voices cold and remorseless. Until they spoke her own parents' names, she thought them justified in committing such wanton slaughter. Had these people not spat upon the laws of both Divines and man, and dared to worship such a bloodthirsty Daedra as Namira? Were they not guilty of defiling the dead to feed their repulsive cravings?

Yet her parents were among them. The woman who birthed her. The man who taught her bowcraft. How could she despise them? Except that she had watched her mother preparing human flesh the same way she had cooked venison countless times in the family kitchen. Meals Lily had eaten, that she now suspected were not what she had believed them to be. And her father, carving portions from the flank of a dead man as if he were a pig.

Knowing she should not have been there that night at all only increased Lily's fears as she cowered. The men were methodical in their cataloguing, collecting jewelry, coins, even her father's fine leather boots. Would they never leave?

Men came and went, carting the bodies out, washing the evidence of their deeds away so that the Halls of the Dead could be opened to mourners once more. Lily dozed off and on, trapped as she was, worn down by shock and terror, until the last one departed and the only sound was the drip, drip of distant moisture off the chill stone. She was about to crawl stiffly from her hiding place, when she heard voices.

"...likely more where this lot came from," one voice said. Lily froze. The stragglers were not very near, but their voices carried in the echoing halls.

"Aye," a second voice answered. "One by one, we'll find them. Start with the families, say I."

"He'll be wanting to let this lie for a bit, though," the first said. "Let'em think they been missed."

"Then round'em up." The second man laughed, a hollow sound in the stillness.

The families. Lily shivered. The Thalmor knew each of the dead by name, knew who they were. A simple matter to track down members of each family.

She waited until after the boom of the great doors faded, and she was certain no other sound could be heard, then tumbled out of the alcove, her numbed legs reluctant to bear her weight. Not caring for stealth now, she staggered to the doors, and slipped out into the night.

Not knowing where else to go, Lily crept from shadow to shadow to the tradesman's section of the city. Checking that she was not marked especially by the guards patrolling the stairs, she knocked discreetly on a particular banded bronze door. No answer came at first, so she pounded more insistently. Quite suddenly, the door was yanked open.

"Whaddayou want?"

Lily jumped back, nearly pitching herself into the canal behind her. She hadn't expected Moth to answer, and the sight of his brutal face, barely illuminated by the flickering street lights, nearly tore a scream from her throat. It wasn't that he was an Orc that frightened her, so much as the threat of his ire. There was, after all, the matter of the 'innocent' teasing to which her and her friends subjected the impatient smith. Not long after he and his sister settled in Markarth, some of Lily's friends decided Moth was their favorite entertainment, and often hid his tools or called mockingly to him in the echoing halls of Understone Keep, causing much confusion as he sought out his tormenters. Lily was slowest one day, and she still bore the marks of his wrath.

"Please," she hissed, trying to keep the panic out of her voice, "I must see Ghorza."

"What for?" he barked suspiciously. Lily winced; would he not be quieter?

"I need her help. _Please_."

"Better be important, calling this late," he snarled, then stepped back to allow her inside. Just being off the street, and away from prying eyes, was enough for Lily to nearly collapse with relief. "And I got my eye on you, whelp."

She winced. Having Moth's attention was not something she particularly wanted. Thankfully, he went to fetch his sister, and didn't return with her.

"What is it, Lily?" Ghorza asked as she came into the front room. It was a humble place, like many of the more modest dwellings in Markarth. Most residents filled their homes with light, for few had windows cut through the rock to let in the sun. Ghorza and Moth must have been preparing to retire for the evening, for only the hearthfire still burned, as well as a lantern on the table.

"I have seen... Ghorza, I am frightened!" Lily cried, embracing her friend as the shocks she'd sustained came flooding back.

"There now, tell me what troubles you, Kit," the Orc woman said, urging Lily to sit on the bench along one side of the dinner table. The use of her old nickname calmed Lily, and she obeyed.

With halting words, Lily recounted the horrors she'd witnessed in the Halls of the Dead until she was once more breathing fast and fearfully. Ghorza patted her shoulder. "Can't say I blame the Jarl in this one thing. Shame your parents were mixed up in it, though. You stay here tonight, Kit. No one'll think to look for you here. We'll decide what's to be done in the morning."

Grateful, Lily let Ghorza fuss over her and put her to bed in the spare room. She could hear Moth's thunderous snores coming from his own room on the lower level. For some reason, the commonness of such a sound helped her sleep, if fitfully.

* * *

In the morning, Lily shot awake as if she'd been splashed with ice cold water. The events of the previous night flooded back, and she began to shake anew. Badly as she wanted to sink into the stone bed and never surface again, Lily knew staying in Markarth was no longer an option.

She found Ghorza and Moth at breakfast when she emerged, and silently joined them. She couldn't look at either one, and kept her eyes down when Ghorza slid a plateful of eggs and bread before her.

"I told Moth, Kit," Ghorza said matter-of-factly. "He agrees you cannot stay here."

"I am grateful for the risk you took in giving me a bed for the night," Lily replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

"No, Kit, we don't mean in our home. We mean in Markarth. Stay here the rest of the day, and tonight, you must leave the city."

Lily looked up, and met Ghorza's gold-yellow eyes. The woman's brow was smoother than the Nord had seen it before, but then she'd rarely come to call on the smith at her home. Perhaps beyond the cares of her work, Ghorza was different. "Where would I go? I do not know anyone beyond these walls."

"That I cannot tell you," the Orc woman sighed. "But it is a vast Hold, is the Reach. You will not lack for settlements to rest in, mines to work in... Moth and I traveled for over a year before coming to the city. There is much to see."

"Aye," Moth said, and Lily was surprised to find his tone gentle, at least for an Orc. "You have a way of getting into and out of mischief, Lily. I do not doubt the wilds will have a time of it taming you." She could swear his pale yellow eyes twinkled. Most of the time, Lily only saw Moth from a distance, or by a quick glance behind while she and her fellows were on the run after some mischief. She'd never seen how his red beard framed a face that, though brutal and savage like all Orc males, was capable of warmth and humor as well.

"Forgive me," Lily said, embarrassed. "I and my friends... have often been unkind to you. It was unjust."

"It was children teasing an old man," Moth rumbled. "Think nothing of it. You are not a child anymore, Lily. Not for a year or more, I expect?"

She nodded. "My coming of age was two years ago."

"There you are. Not a child," he said. "About time you sought your fortune, eh? See what lies beyond these cold walls. You may find the sun is warm. I have sometimes forgotten that." He laughed at his own remark for a moment. Rising from the bench and running his fingers through his thick mane of red hair in a half-hearted attempt to tame it, he announced, "I should report for duty. There will likely be Thalmor blades to repair first thing." Casting an apologetic look at Lily, he departed.

"Ghorza," Lily said hesitantly, "what if I... looked for an Orsimer stronghold? Would I be welcome there?"

The Orc woman raised her eyebrows, but considered the idea. "If you were Blood-Kin, you would be, yes."

"How do I become Blood-Kin?"

"Why do you ask?" Ghorza replied.

"I have sat at your feet for several years now, my friend," Lily said carefully. "You have told me only a little of the ways of your people, yet you have inspired in me a great curiosity. If I am to wander homeless, I would... like to... at least believe, however falsely, that I may be welcomed _somewhere_."

"There is much you have to offer _any_ settlement, Kit," the Orc said. "You are a capable smith, and your bow is quite deadly, I'm told. For all his faults, your father taught you well. But you should know that the Orc strongholds are not quite like Nord settlements. They are often run with a mind toward keeping all outsiders _out_ , even when it comes to trade."

"Why?" Lily asked.

"Protection," Ghorza said, shrugging. "My folk have suffered in nearly all provinces we have tried to call home: driven out, put to the sword, enslaved. Had we not been found useful by the Empire, we may never have been accepted anywhere."

"What must I do to gain acceptance?" the Nord woman pressed.

Sighing with resignation, Ghorza said, "Go to a stronghold. There is one southeast of here, Dushnikh Yal. You will be given a task to fulfill. Succeed, and you will be Blook-Kin and may enter any of the strongholds in Skyrim."

"And... if I fail?"

"There is no prize for failure, Kit. To fail is to die, for the task is often difficult, quite possibly deadly. You must be willing to risk all on behalf of the Orsimer; _that_ is what is valued."

"I have little enough left to lose," Lily said, bowing her head. "Ghorza, you once told me you left your stronghold because you did not wish to be the wife of a chieftain."

"That is so. Not just the wife, but the _third_ wife. Such a position is not favorable, though I have known the third wife to hold some degree of prestige if she is determined enough. Or foolish enough."

"What do you mean?"

Ghorza chuckled. "I do not believe I have told you enough about the stronghold way of life. The chieftain is the only one permitted to wed, and he often has several wives. His wives run the work that sustains the stronghold. The first wife is often the Hunts-Wife, while the second is Forge-Wife."

"What does the third wife do?"

"Spread her legs, mostly," Ghorza laughed. Lily blushed fiercely. "Most chieftains I have heard of do not have very many wives. Two is often enough for them, as you can imagine. Any other women in the stronghold are likely his daughters, or perhaps the wives of a prior chieftain. If he takes a third wife, it is usually from a political arrangement with another clan, or because his position as chieftain is threatened, and he wishes to appear still in possession of his youthful vigor. That is how _I_ have seen it, anyway."

Frowning, Lily forced herself to ask, "Would I... if I went to a stronghold, would I be required to... wed the chieftain in order to stay?"

Ghorza smiled kindly. "You are a Nord, Lily," she said. "The chieftain would not demand you be his wife in exchange for a bed to sleep in. Not only would the Orcs in the stronghold take offense, so would any Nord who learned of it. So if your heart calls you there, go. See how the Orsimer live, if you are curious."

Lily had been fascinated by Orsimeri ways ever since Ghorza and Moth set foot in Markarth several years ago. To see Orcs not sentenced to serve in the Cidhna Mine for some offense, or simply able to live comfortably enough by their smithcraft to have housing in the city instead of the Warrens beneath, was cause for notice. Though technically a race of _mer_ , they looked so... different. Yet she could see kinship with them in so many things. The Orcs shared with the Nords much in how they honored the fallen, and in how they respected friends as well as enemies. Ghorza once told her that the Orsimer lived in Skyrim before the Nords ever came. The thought made Lily sad, for there seemed to be so many Nords, precious few Orsimer.

She would go to Dushnikh Yal, then. Or if not there, then some other stronghold, for Lily had never heard of the sort of things her parents had done when anyone she knew spoke of the Orsimer. At least there, she believed, divine laws were heeded.


	2. Leaving Home

Ghorza left soon after breakfast to tend her own forge near the mine, leaving Lily with little to do but fret and worry. The Orc gave her only a few words of advice before departing.

"If you must go out, wear something of mine," she said. "You may go unnoticed if you wear humbler clothing. And dirty your face. Look as a ragamuffin. The guards will sneer, but they will likely not follow. Hide your eyes, as well. They give you away."

Nodding, Lily did as she was told, fetching a dress from Ghorza's wardrobe. The Orsimer had a polished disc, and Lily used it to look at her face. To her, there was little enough to mark her, except the eyes. They bespoke her Altmer heritage, though a few generations back. It was an odd thing in a Nord, the slanted, almond-shaped eyes, and would likely be the one feature the guards would be told to watch for. Otherwise, she bore the same pale cheeks and smooth complexion of any Nord. Her figure was perhaps a bit on the thin side, though showing the narrow waist and curved hips of a girl who has entered womanhood. Perhaps her mouth was distinct as well; her slightly prominent upper lip had always made her look like a cross child.

To make herself less distinguishable, Lily thrust her hands into the ash of the hearthfire, now banked while her hosts were gone. Trying to imagine what it must be like to work the kitchens, for her mother had always seen to the cooking, employing servants when a grand feast was arranged rather than engaging Lily's aid, she roughly dragged a soot-covered hand across her forehead, scratched at her cheek, rubbed her nose as if it itched... which it did, once the ash covered it. She vigorously wiped her hands off on Ghorza's dress, feeling a little guilty for doing so. Digging fingers into her dark hair, she roughed it up into a tangled mass, not too difficult considering she had gone to bed too upset to bind it properly. Then she took another look at herself in the mirrored surface of the disc.

Not bad, she thought. Few who truly knew her well would mistake the scruffy, tousled waif for any but Lily. The guards, however, may overlook her. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped out.

The walkway outside Ghorza's home was deserted for the moment; there were usually guards patrolling at all hours, keeping the peace. Mostly, they complained about their lot in life. Keeping her head down, Lily made for her friend's home in the upper reaches of the city.

Merta came from a wealthier family than Lily's, and her dwelling was closer to Understone Keep. From the balcony on the second level, she could overlook the main stream running out of the mountainside, tumbling down through the canals, powering the waterwheels that kept the forges and smelters hot down in the lower part of the city near the Cidhna Mine. Lily's own home was the next level down. Her father had married for money, some folk whispered, but still clung to his common roots, even teaching his daughter to hunt, though there was no need for it. During the night, Lily had wondered if he kept his skills honed because his quarry were no longer beasts.

Praying to Talos that her friend had not yet gone out, Lily scurried up the stairs and around the corners until she stood before the heavy, ornate bronze door she knew to be Merta's. The nearest guard was walking in the opposite direction some distance away, and so didn't notice her as she knocked furiously on the door.

"Lily?" her friend said incredulously when she answered. "What...?"

Lily pushed past her into the front room, shaking all over. Any moment spent on the streets was a cause for fear. "Close the door, you fool!"

Taken aback, Merta obeyed. "I do hope you'll tell me why you are dressed as a beggar and covered in filth," she said, crossing her arms.

"I have to leave Markarth," Lily replied, nervously wringing her hands, eyes darting around. "Are your parents home?"

"No," Merta said with a frown. "They've gone to the Jarl to plead their case again, as if Jarl Igmund has any say in the matter." She rolled her eyes. If the Silver-Bloods did not wish to strike a deal with her father, that was their business. "What became of you last night? We eventually gave up on you and went home."

"I noticed," Lily snapped.

"Why would you need to leave? Did you see something you shouldn't have?" Merta's eyes sparkled with hungry curiosity.

"I saw... no, I won't tell you. You may be questioned, and I...," Lily began, then faltered. She'd told Ghorza, possibly endangered both Orcs. Swallowing hard, she went on, "Yes, I saw something. I must go before they see fit to round up any who may be... associated."

"Lily," Merta pouted angrily. "You cannot dangle such words and not give satisfaction. What did you see?"

"I saw my parents _die,_ Merta, now shut up and _help me_."

Startled, her friend staggered back, eyes widening. It took a moment to recover; such things as murder had no place in the upper levels of the city. That was something for the Warrens, or the mine. "What do you need?"

"Just... just tell our friends that I have left to... to seek my fortune," Lily replied, thinking fast. She'd wanted to ask for more, perhaps have her friend fetch some of her most prized treasures from her home. But the guards would soon know which citizens were among those slain, and one would likely remember seeing a young woman entering the home of one. "Or... I didn't particularly like the man my father wished me to wed. I don't care; they would believe either one of me. Just be sure to tell any who ask that you saw me leaving... two days ago. I was not here yesterday, you did not see me, and you _certainly_ did not dare me to break into the Halls of the Dead," she snarled accusingly.

Slightly affronted, Merta retorted, "You swore loudly and often enough when the Jarl bade the priests of Arkay bar the doors against all visitors. I simply wanted an end." Her expression changed to worry. "You... saw why they locked it, didn't you?"

"You know _nothing_ ," Lily said thickly. "That is all you know, if you are asked. _Nothing_." Hesitating only a moment, Lily threw her arms around her friend. "I shall miss you, Merta."

"And I you. Be safe."

* * *

Until this day, Lily had never worried about when the forges closed down for the dinner hour, and now she paced anxiously in Ghorza's home, waiting. It was Moth who returned first.

"You look a sight," he commented tiredly. Noting the roaring fire in the hearth, he sighed gratefully and sat on the bench by the table. "Shame you're leaving us, Lily. Could use a wench around to see to the fires and the cooking."

Lily bristled slightly, but let it go. "I'm not an especially good cook. What of Ghorza? Does she not cook for you?"

Moth merely laughed, slapping his thigh. "Better learn cooking, if you go into the wilds. Settlements are few and far between here in the Reach. You won't find too many who will sell you food." Glancing up at her, his eyes narrowed appraisingly. "Your father taught you to hunt, didn't he?"

"Yes." She hugged herself tightly and looked away.

"You'll do all right, then," the Orc said gruffly.

"Was there... any talk of... last night?" she asked awkwardly. "Up in the Keep?"

He shook his head. "Jarl's keeping it quiet, like those men said he would. Wouldn't rest easy if I were you, though. He may not be sending his men into the streets yet, but that time'll come soon enough."

"I have put you and Ghorza in danger, and I am so sorry," Lily said sincerely.

"Pah. They won't do anything to us. Who would think you'd turn to Orcs for refuge, eh? Proper lady like yourself?" His eyes creased with mirth, and Lily found herself smiling as well. "Probably won't even ask if we know of you in passing."

At that, Ghorza returned just as weary as her brother, and bearing a large bundle.

"Ah, the lady of the house returns," Moth said teasingly, and rose stiffly from his seat. "Shall I draw a bath, madam?"

"If only to drown yourself in," Ghorza grumbled. "Lily, I know you prefer to make your own things at the forge, but it seemed... well, you should keep your head down until you leave the walls of this place well behind you. Here." She handed the package over.

Within, Lily found a full set of leather armor, newly and finely crafted. Speechless, she could only look in wonder at the Orc. Ghorza tried not to smile. "I had a spare sword I could part with, and the bow. They should serve you well. The arrows are steel, and all I could gather up. Whenever you can, get more, even if you have to take them off those filthy Forsworn that cover the hills."

"Ghorza, I... I can't thank you enough," Lily said humbly, then swiftly embraced the startled Orc.

"Now, now," Ghorza admonished gently as she patted the woman's back. "If you go to the strongholds, you had better not hug anyone, Kit. They might think you mean to attack them."

"Strongholds?" Moth said with surprise. "What do you mean? You aren't sending Lily to the strongholds, are you?"

Shrugging, Ghorza released Lily and crossed to the pantry to select ingredients for dinner. "It is not a place the Jarl's men are likely to look. If she can gain entrance, she will be safe enough."

Moth snorted. "If the task set by the chieftain doesn't kill her first, perhaps."

"And if the Jarl's men find her, she's dead anyway," Ghorza snapped. "She can do no worse among our folk than she already has among her own."

"Perhaps. But it depends on the stronghold, doesn't it?"

"I thought Dushnikh Yal would be best," his sister replied as she began cutting up vegetables. "The chieftain is an honorable man. A strong man."

"A man you might have been promised to if you hadn't run off in a snit," Moth chided good-naturedly.

"Not as much of a snit as your own," she retorted.

"I was in love and foolish," he replied.

"She was our chieftain's wife, and you are fortunate he did not learn of your... foolishness."

"She was just as foolish."

Ghorza waved her knife dismissively.

"Lily," Moth said, growing serious. "I know of this Chief Burguk. He is honorable, as Ghorza says. Honorable, and fair. You will be safe in his hold."

"Thank you," she said softly, relieved.

"But be mindful of the men," he warned. "They are not permitted to wed, but such is not required for...," he said, then paused. She was young. By her look, and swift flush, she seemed _too_ young for such talk, though she'd long since come of age. What was that age, then, when the higher classes began bartering their daughters for prestige? Fifteen? Sixteen? He'd made enough wedding necklaces and rings for terrified young girls to know by now. She must be something like eighteen at least, surely. A ripe fruit for the plucking, and not properly schooled in these matters by her mother, apparently. "Just be wary."

"I am a Nord," Lily pointed out. "Why would they look on me... in that way?"

"You are a _woman_ ," Moth said succinctly. "That fact speaks louder than race. You will be required to do your share in the hold: fight for its defense, hunt for its food, delve for its ore. If you do these things with strength and honor, you may attract the eye of one or two men in the hold. This attention is better than that of a man who only seeks... momentary pleasures."

"But... I am a _Nord_ ," she insisted, growing worried. "I understand what you say of... momentary... and I will be mindful of... but for the other..." Her cheeks flared hotly.

"There are some Orsimer who... are not particular," Ghorza said delicately. "They are forbidden from _marrying_ other Orc women while in the stronghold, but there is no written law against... dallying."

"No, indeed," Moth snorted, laughing. "Even the Code we follow is not recorded. It is _known_ , but not written. Though a chieftain might think the law applies to _any_ female, regardless of race. It is up to the chieftain's discretion. And that goes for matters of marriage _and_ dallying."

Swallowing uncomfortably, Lily asserted, "I seek refuge, not... not a husband. They will... respect this, won't they?"

"Chief Burguk will, that I know," Moth agreed. "His sons as well, very likely. They will seek his position one day. Taking a Nord wife would greatly reduce their authority. No offense meant." His brow furrowed, wondering how the Chieftain stood on _other_ relations with Nord women, but he said nothing more.

Lily nodded. She didn't want to say that she didn't think she could marry an Orsimer in any case. It embarrassed her to think it, but theirs was a truly ugly and brutal race, no matter that the ones she knew were kind and warm-hearted. She just could not imagine sharing a marital bed with one.

* * *

When the sun had hidden itself behind the mountains, yet still cast enough light for travel, Lily went to the front gates. They stood open, allowing last-minute travellers egress before the sun's setting would force closure. Ghorza urged her to keep the dress she'd worn, and wear it out of the city.

"If you leave dressed for battle, you will attract more eyes than you care to," she'd said. "Without it, you could be returning to the farm or the mining village outside. Look like you have a homeward purpose, and you should be ignored."

The bow was too long to conceal in the pack she wore, but she had often left for hunting with her father, even in the night time, without drawing comment. Tonight was no different; the guards manning the watchtowers that lined the road out of Markarth only had eyes for the Forsworn.

At the bottom of the rise to the city, past the farm and village, the road met another. An encampment of Khajiiti traders stood between the road and the river. Lily took no chances, and avoided them, crossing the bridge over the river and heading east along the main road. When it curved out of sight of the nearest guard tower, Lily ducked into the brush alongside the road and donned her new armor.

It was stiff with newness, and still smelled of tanning oils, but fit well. Ghorza had a good eye, and a good memory. Thinking of the Orsimer, Lily's heart pained her, and she finally allowed herself to weep again. _They will be all right_ , she told herself. _They are respected. Few knew of our friendship._ That thought also embarrassed her. Nords of her class did not have friendships with Orsimer smiths. If her father knew of it...

She shook her head. Even if he had survived the massacre in the Halls of the Dead, Lily would have considered his deeds a renouncement of his authority over her. She would guide her own steps now.


	3. The Bloody Curse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Location is Reachcliff Cave; Lily uses the "secret" entrance. Technically locked until you complete the "Taste of Death" quest.

Further on down the dusty road, Lily crossed a bridge, and her eyes were drawn to an ancient metal door set into the lichen-covered stone of the mountainside. The weathered bronze was nearly the same color as the surrounding stone, and difficult to see. Had the last rays of the sun not struck the surface, Lily might have missed it.

Grateful for shelter for the night, she trotted up to the door and pulled the handles outward. It didn't occur to her to wonder why it opened easily on well-oiled hinges.

A dimly-lit, circular room greeted her, the doorway flanked by two huge urns. Across the room, an old bookshelf with a few books and a grisly-looking human skull stood. Shuddering, she decided it would be best to sleep concealed, and spread her bedroll behind the largest of the urns. It would prove the saving of her life.

Late in the night, Lily was startled awake by the door opening. She froze in fear; the newcomers were dressed in dark robes and moved almost silently.

"What are we to do?" one of the figures asked nervously. By the accent and timber, Lily identified the speaker as a Dunmer man.

"Just as we have always done when the eyes have opened too wide," the other replied. This one was unmistakably a Nord woman. "We retreat until the storm blows over."

"But I _hunger_!" complained another Nord woman's voice. "My stomach pinches and my mouth wets. Can we not spirit at least _one_ of them away? They would want us to, I'm certain of it."

"Hold your tongue or I shall have it from you," the first woman snarled. "I hunger as well. We must be _discreet_."

"I'll not be going back to _deer_ meat," the second woman spat contemptuously. "My stomach would reject it."

"Then you will starve, wench," the Dunmer snapped.

"Come, my friends," the first said soothingly. "We accomplish nothing by fighting among ourselves. We are fewer now; we must embrace one another. There is meat yet in our stores to sustain us, and of course the Forsworn are plentiful. We shall not lack."

"Tis not _Nord_ meat, as is preferred," the second hissed, and Lily plainly heard her smack her lips. "They have a particular taste I quite like."

A slap echoed in the chamber. "You will abide by my words, Siri! If you endanger the rest of us with your carelessness, I will not hesitate to slay you in Namira's name myself. Now come. It is past time we fed. I am quicker to anger when I have had to settle for beast meat."

The three figures disappeared down the tunnel opposite the door, leaving Lily trembling. There was no doubt in her mind what they were discussing. For a moment, she didn't know what to do.

There were only three of them. Only three. She could slay them, as the Thalmor Justiciars had the others. If she lived, perhaps... perhaps the Jarl would see she was not one of them. She faltered, though. To take the life of another, even ones so foul and wretched as these... Yet they stole something precious from her. They had lured her parents into their abhorrent practices, leading to their deaths. Their 'hunger' drove Lily from the only home she'd ever known, never to return.

A flame of hate flared in her gut. Buckling on her sword belt and quiver, she steeled herself. They were going to die for what they'd done. Hopefully on an empty stomach, if she had anything to say about it. She strung her bow, and crept to the tunnel, listening for any sounds ahead. All was quiet enough, so she inched forward. It was rather like stalking prey in the wilds with her father, and in a sense she felt he was with her. She could not bear the idea that her father was as dedicated to this feast of flesh as those people she overheard were. For some reason, it was easier to believe her mother reveling in it than her father.

The tunnel led downward for many yards. Torches sputtered weakly at irregular intervals, casting wild shadows on the rough-hewn walls. Mist hung in the air, likely due to moisture from the river that ran not far from the caves. Dust drifted lazily as well; it was difficult for Lily to breathe without coughing and giving herself away. Eventually, the tunnel opened onto a narrow chamber forming a 'T' intersection. Four black stone effigies of birds of prey stood at the corners, decorated in the ancient Nord style. Hundreds of fat white candles burned throughout the room.

And there was blood. It was spilled on the floor, splattered on the walls. The air stank of death.

Fighting down the urge to vomit, Lily silently moved to the bronze door to her right. She could hear the murmur of voices beyond, the tinkle of dishes. An occasional laugh. Nocking an arrow, she steadied herself and took a deep, shuddering breath to still her moment of panic, then slowly eased the door open wth her shoulder.

The entryway by the door was in shadows, for which Lily was grateful. Still, she darted into the room quickly lest the candlelight from the bloody chamber cast a shadow. The feasters seemed oblivious as they chatted amicably over their 'dinner.' The closest one was the Dunmer man. Lily took aim at his head and fired.

As soon as the man fell face down on the table without so much as a cry, Lily moved swiftly through the shadows to a different location. The Nord women vaulted from their seats.

"Benar!" cried one, rushing to the man's side. Her face contorting with fury, she stretched her right hand skyward and cast. The air rippled around the man's body in a swirl of purple shades of energy, enveloping the corpse and lifting it up. Lily was momentarily transfixed with horror as the woman lowered her arm, and the corpse settled on its feet. Then it began to move on its own.

Panicking, she fumbled another arrow into position and took aim at the apparent leader, who was casting a summoning spell. Her arrow interrupted the woman before the spell could be completed, but left her open to the other two. Once more, Lily ducked and darted from one bit of shadow to another, firing on the run.

Quite by accident, for she was aiming at the necromancer, one of her arrows struck the Dunmer, and his body seemed to explode, raining ash upon the floor. Lily forced herself to ignore it and keep shooting. It took two more arrows through the woman to bring her down; a third to finish her. That left the summoner.

Her interrupting arrow had pierced the woman's shoulder, rendering her primary casting arm useless, but she was not finished yet. Lily lost sight of her while dealing with the other two, and now had no idea where the woman had gone. Eyes wide with fear, she stared around the dining hall from a place of concealment, looking for any sign of movement.

"A mouse caught in a trap," a cold voice said calmly, sounding hollow in the silence. Lily froze. "You cannot move, or I will see you. I cannot move, for you will see _me._ We are at an impasse, little mouse."

"There is no impasse," Lily said more bravely than she felt. "I will kill you. I don't care how long I have to wait. You will likely lose your head with hunger long before I do."

The woman chuckled. "So courageous. Such bravado. Who are you, mouse?"

Lily took deep breaths to calm herself. The chamber was typical of mead halls, with a high ceiling and wide floor. The stonework sent their voices dancing around the walls, hiding their locations from one another. Yet she listened as hard as she could for anything that sounded like movement.

"Your slayer, filth," she replied. "That is all you need to know."

Her quarry laughed this time, the sound echoing harshly in the stillness. She was getting closer. Lily stiffened and slid an arrow from her quiver.

"You cannot slay me, little mouse. I am blessed by Namira. She watches over me."

"She's bound to blink sooner or later," Lily growled. If she could keep the woman talking, she'd be able to pinpoint her location. It was just a matter of concentrating... just as her father had taught her.

"Namira does not blink," the woman said, a hint of affront in her voice. "She watches tirelessly. She sees you now. Keep your secrets from me if you like, but you cannot hide from _her_."

There. Lily's mouth formed a grim line as she pulled back on the bowstring. "Your dedication is admirable. Perhaps it is time you met her in person."

Lily leaped to her feet, aiming swiftly and loosing the arrow. At the same time, the other woman rose up, a spell already forming in her hands. Flames shot forth; had Lily's arrow been made of anything but steel, the fire would have consumed it before it ever reached its mark.

Throwing herself to the floor, Lily rolled to put out the flames that wreathed her body. It was several minutes of nearly fruitless effort, for magical fire was not so easily quenched, before the flames receded of their own accord, leaving her singed, burned, breathless, but alive. With relief, she realized the other woman was dead, an arrow through her throat. Evidently, Namira blinked.

Regardless that she was weary enough to sleep for days, aching from using muscles that had hardly been engaged so rigorously before, and stinging from many burns, Lily felt invigorated. She had faced enemies of her kin, and defeated them. What's more, she'd been _outnumbered_ and prevailed. It was a heady feeling.

She forced herself to search the bodies. None carried notes or diaries; likely they didn't commit their deeds to paper, lest such information be wrested or pickpocketed from them. But they carried coin, and wore fine jewelry. Lily pocketed these; she'd left Markarth with nothing, after all. It was only fitting that the thieves of her comfortable life be made to compensate her for it.

Scanning the room, her eyes fell upon what must be an altar at one end. She cautiously approached it, grimacing with revulsion. It was hideous: a stone slab stood before a giant effigy of what was likely Namira herself, or at least a hideous face meant to represent the Daedric Prince. Batlike wings cupped an offering dish, in which her followers had placed a heart, presumably human. Above the dish, the face loomed, tusklike protrusions curving out around its mouth, from which a head with an agonized face peered.

There was blood everywhere. If the smaller chamber was the site of the slaying, the altar must be where they prepared their 'meals.' Lily finally decided she had spent more than sufficient time in the dining hall, and hastened out.

In the bloody chamber, she paused. A chain dangled from a hole in the wall, rather like a bellpull in a manor house. Curiosity tugged at her for a moment. Shaking her head to clear it, she decided she was finished, and ran up the tunnel to the exit.

Lily sucked in deep breaths once she stood beneath the moon once more. She'd forgotten what fresh, untainted air tasted like. The path she'd followed led southeast up the rise, and she continued on a touch more warily than she might have before. It was finally sinking in that she was on her own. As Ghorza said, there was no prize for failure in anything anymore.

As she reached the top of the hill, she was startled to see the timbered walls of a large fortress. Curiosity got the better of her this time, and she headed toward the sturdy walls. It wasn't until she was close enough to make out details of whose settlement it was that other things also became apparent.

Judging by the men and women defending the walls, it was undoubtedly an Orsimer stronghold. Though Lily had never seen them before, she'd heard enough descriptions to identify the stronghold's attackers as Forsworn. Stringing her bow once more, Lily raced down the hill.


	4. Learning the Code

The Forsworn numbered only a dozen, but apparently they felt they were sufficient in number and might to assault a fortified Orsimer stronghold. But then, there were only a few Orcs defending the walls. Maybe a dozen _was_ enough.

Mouth set in a grim line, Lily halted behind five Forsworn warriors engaged in battle against two male Orcs at the side entrance to the stronghold. A third Orc stood on the battlements above, trying to fire arrows into the melee when she had opportunity, which wasn't often. Nocking an arrow, Lily shot one of the men in the back, his hide armor barely covering his torso. The Reachman staggered forward from the impact, then whirled toward the new threat.

Her stomach clenched in panic. The warrior wore a headdress made from a deer's head, and about his neck was strung a necklace of what looked like bear claws. As they had done against the Nord woman, Lily's hands fumbled the arrow as the savage-looking warrior charged her. A whimper escaped her, and she started backing up. Finally setting the arrow in place, she loosed it, and it went wide of the mark, striking one of the other Forsworn. Now she had two of them after her.

The first warrior was almost upon her when he suddenly stiffened and fell, another arrow in his back, this time from the Orsimer archer in the stronghold. Lily barely registered her savior; the other warrior was closing in. The narrow escape gave her a moment to get her head together, and she swiftly reloaded. This time, her arrow flew straight and true. The second warrior dropped.

Assessing the battle at the gate, Lily quickly saw that one of the two Orsimer was on his knees, bloodied from many blows, while the other stood over him and held off the three remaining Forsworn. The archer above couldn't get a clear shot due to her angle and the fighters' closeness to the wall, and kept pacing nervously, looking for an opening. Lily, however, had plenty of room.

Nocking another arrow, Lily fired at the biggest of the three, purposely aiming for his burly swordarm. Roaring from the injury, he dropped his weapon and stepped back from the fight, clutching his arm. The Orsimer archer paid him well for his foolishness.

Then the remaining Orc was staggered by a coward's blow to the back of his knee, and he went down beside the other. The two Forsworn took a moment to bellow triumphant warcries as they raised their weapons for the killing blow.

It was as if she were seeing Ghorza there, or Moth, beset by Thalmor Justiciars, about to be slain for helping her. Enraged, Lily threw down her bow, drew her sword, and rushed the Forsworn warriors from behind.

She'd never really trained in swordplay, only sparring with some of the boys in her circle for amusement's sake. Having the weapon in her hand gave her a modicum of confidence, but she lacked a warrior's instinct. Rather than stab or slash, she simply barreled into the two warriors and knocked them off-balance, tripping over the fallen Orcs in the process and sprawling face down on the ground. One Forsworn warrior recovered faster than the other, and delivered a glancing blow across her back before he could fully regain his feet.

Lily had never been struck by a real weapon before, either. The Nord women she fought earlier never got close enough, relying on spells to fight. Though not by any means a fatal blow, the blade of the Forsworn's sword cut through a thin section of her armor to the tender skin beneath; her impact with the ground stunned her.

The Orsimer man first felled at the gate lurched to his feet and with a roar of fury, drove his sword into the other Forsworn warrior's gut. His fellow also recovered, and though nearly hamstrung, he too rose, albeit awkwardly. The remaining Forsworn who had struck Lily retreated, only to bring himself within the Orsimer archer's direct line of fire. He was brought down cleanly by an arrow through the back of his neck.

It hurt. A lot. Lily could barely move, for every twitch seemed to make the fire on her flank blaze higher. Every breath was pain. Rough hands grabbed her arms and hauled her up, and she hung like a rag doll between the two Orcs as they dragged her into the stronghold. She heard the gate bang shut. Heard the sounds of battle still raging nearby. Voices calling. Her rescuers dropped her in the dirt and ran off. Closing her eyes, Lily let darkness enfold her.

* * *

" _...is weak. A blow such as that would not have dropped an Orsimer child still at his mother's breast."_

Lily wanted to shake her head in protest of the contemptuous voice's accusation, but couldn't seem to move much.

" _The filth poisoned his blade, or do you ignore the retching coming from your own son?"_

" _Nagrub is fine. He will recover. Your remedies have never failed. **She** does not retch."_

" _She did not receive the full measure. I appreciate your confidence, but if he cannot keep my remedy **down** , he will fall as she has done."_

" _Who in Oblivion **is** she?"_

" _You think I know? I have not laid eyes on her before this day."_

The voices seemed to fade in and out, until finally dissipating like wisps of smoke in the wind. Poison? Did warriors use such things? Her father told her that if you had to use poisons when hunting, you were a poor hunter, and should just drink the toxin straight from the vial. Only thieves and assassins used poison, he'd said. Ah, she realized. Forsworn. Thieves and assassins, indeed.

It seemed to require an extra effort to open her eyes and take in her surroundings. She was in a building of some sort, made from great timbers and rough stone. The bed was rope-slung, and cushioned with straw. It was a strange feeling, after a lifetime upon a stone slab. The room was large, with several other beds, small tables, chests for personal belongings, and low dressers. The bed next to hers bore an Orsimer man, eyes closed, face covered in sweat. Even Lily could tell his dark olive skin was paler than it should be. A bucket stood on the floor nearby, and from the smell, he'd apparently used it recently.

He wore only a kilt of hides. Lily had never seen a man so indecently dressed before, and the sight made her blush and look away. Recalling the battle, she realized he hadn't had much more than that on at the time, either. How had she not noticed?

Hanging over the center of the room was a branched candleholder made of what looked like tusks and wrought iron hoops. The candles were not lit, for pale light filtered in from triangular windows cut into the roof at seemingly random intervals.

After a few minutes, she slowly turned her head to peek at the Orc once again. The first thing she noticed was the up-thrust lower jaw, much larger and heavier than any Nord's she'd ever seen. But then, Nords didn't have to accommodate such large tusks. For all that his jaw jutted out, his nose was nearly flush with his heavy brow, a strangely blunt feature. Or rather, she mused as she examined him, his profile formed a smooth slope, from forehead to chin. Of hair, he had little. His jawline was covered by a short bristling of unshaven black beard, but his head was almost completely shaved but for a tail of hair thrust up from the very top of his head, and gathered with a leather thong. It appeared he cared little how much hair grew upon his face, but was nearly obsessed with keeping his head smooth, for not a bit of stubble showed there. Yellow paint, smeared in a few places, could still be seen on his face, seeming to form the pattern of a radiant sun, at least from the side.

Suddenly the Orc convulsed, and leaned over the side of his bed to vomit into the bucket again. Lily looked away quickly and covered her mouth, her own nausea flaring up in sympathy. When she was sure he was finished, she looked over. He was staring at her with eyes such a pale blue they seemed almost white. She'd never seen an Orc's eyes quite like his.

"Why did you aid us?" he rasped weakly.

"I was looking for Dushnikh Yal," she replied.

"You found it," he said. "What do you want with us?"

"I seek Blood-Kin."

He snorted. "Take a lot more than that." Closing his eyes again, he settled back. "Still, you saved _my_ life. I won't forget it."

"I daresay we're likely even," Lily pointed out. "I am not very good with a sword."

"Hmph. That I could tell."

"Are you... Nagrub?"

"I am," he replied. "Strongest son of the chieftain."

"Will you be Chieftain when your father dies?" she asked curiously.

Nagrub's brow furrowed and he looked at her as if she'd said something incredibly stupid. "I will be Chieftain when I defeat him in fair combat. He _and_ my brother. And any upstart whelps that whore, Shel, drops."

Lily's jaw dropped open in shock. "You... you will kill them?"

The Orc shrugged, unconcerned. "If needs be. If they concede victory, then no, but few do, even if they know they are beaten. If they step aside without battle, they won't have so much as a bruising. We shall see, eh?"

"I... suppose," she replied uncertainly. Casting about for a different subject, she asked, "What did they want? Those Forsworn."

"Plunder, likely," Nagrub said. "They _say_ they want all who are not Reachmen to leave these lands, but they really want power. They want our mine. They want our wealth." Laughing, he said, "We value a strong arm and a brave heart that is still in our body. I do not think they can sell these things."

Lily looked away, frowning. "I lack both. Would that _I_ could buy such things."

Nagrub turned his head to look at the Nord woman. She was pale, but then all humans looked sickly to him. The shape of her light brown eyes drew his attention, now that he was looking at her properly. Very strange for a Nord, he mused. Her upper lip was slightly turned up, rather like the pouting mouth of a small child. Her hair was a dark brown, and seemed to cover the pillow like a shroud.

"The arm and the heart do not rise in worth in a single day, or one battle," he replied. "Perhaps you attacked foolishly, but the point Murbul is making to the Chieftain is that you _attacked_. You saw our need, and you gave aid. He is stubborn, though. Best not to assume he will be generous."

Casting about in her memory, for the last few days had worn her nerves to frayed ends, she asked, "Is he... Chief Burguk?"

"Aye. You have heard of him?" There was a note of pride in the Orsimer's voice.

"Yes," Lily replied eagerly, turning on her side to face Nagrub. The movement made her nauseous, but she fought it down. "I have friends in Markarth who spoke of his honor. They said to seek him out."

"Friends? What sort of friends?" he asked warily.

"Orsimer, like you," she replied.

" _Pah_ ," Nagrub spat. "City Orcs. What do they know?"

"They were raised in a stronghold," Lily said, frowning. "Were they misinformed? Is Chief Burguk not an honorable man?"

"He follows the Code of Malacath faithfully," Nagrub conceded. "Yes, he is honorable."

"Muh... Malacath?" the Nord woman breathed, a stunned expression on her face. "The Daedric Prince?"

Nagrub narrowed his eyes. "You have 'friends' who are Orsimer and you did not know Malacath is our patron god?"

Embarrassed, Lily looked away. "We never spoke of... matters of religion." Glancing at the Orc's smirking face, she hastily explained, "Please understand, few in Markarth _do_. We are under the boot of the Thalmor Justiciars, and any whisper of belief in any but the Eight Divines is a crime. If they still follow... this Code, they dare not speak of it openly."

The Orc nodded, somewhat mollified. "Why would they send you _here_? I do not know of any but my sister who have left in many years. They can't be from _this_ stronghold."

"They are not. Ghorza told me once... Bagol, I think." Embarrassed again, she said, "I confess it is her name: gra-Bagol. She said she took the name in honor of her stronghold, so I've always assumed that was what it was called."

"I have never heard of it, but Murbul may have," Nagrub shrugged. "She is old, and knows things."

Lily's brow furrowed. "I heard someone speaking earlier. To the Chieftain, I think. If we were both poisoned by the same blade, why are you so ill and I am not?"

Appraising her, Nagrub shrugged again. "Makes no sense to me, but I don't have Murbul's wisdom. You were barely nicked; perhaps that is why."

"I'm not complaining," she said wryly, glancing at his sick bucket. He grinned weakly in response.

"Entertaining the lass?"

The Orc and the Nord looked toward the doorway to see an elderly Orsimer woman entering, a steaming bowl in her hand. Lily was immediately arrested by the woman's eyes. There was no color in them at all, not even the pale blue Nagrub possessed; she could only see white. The Orc's face was heavily lined, particularly around the eyes. Her nose was not nearly as blunt as Nagrub's, but rather aquiline. Her high cheekbones gave an imperious air to her heart-shaped face. She wore a headdress made from a bear's head, the pelt draped over her bare shoulders. A hide binding cloth wrapped her heavy breasts, and she wore a knee-length kilt of hides hung with herb pouches and various dessicated animal parts and bones. Her skin was the color of tanned leather.

"I don't think she likes my new trick, Murbul," he replied.

"Drink this, boy," the woman said peremptorily, handing him the bowl. He sat up and drank it obediently.

"Now you. Where did you come from, child?"

"I'm not...," Lily began, then snapped her mouth shut. Swallowing, she thought better of correcting the formidable woman, and replied, "I come from Markarth. I am Lily."

The old woman seated herself on the edge of the bed, roughly shoving Lily's leg out of the way to make room. The Nord could only scoot back and tremble before those strange eyes that seemed to see all her secrets, though surely the woman must be blind.

"What were you doing outside our walls?"

"I...," she began, shooting a helpless look at Nagrub. He shrugged and bowed his head to hide a slight smile as he drank his medicine. "I seek Blood-Kin. Friends of mine sent me here."

Raising an eyebrow, Murbul snapped, "You seek to poke your Nord nose in the business of Orsimer. Do you look upon us as amusing beasts?"

Shocked by her accusation, Lily shook her head vigorously. "No, ma'am. I confess interest in the Orsimer, true, but not to disdain them. I count one among my friends."

"What is the name of this 'friend'?"

"Ghorza gra-Bagol," she said, and a hint of her admiration for the smith was apparent in her voice. "She runs a blacksmith's shop in Markarth, and has told me some of your people's history and ways."

"Bagol," the woman mused, her expression softening. "That is a name I have not heard in years. Bagol is no more. The stronghold has been destroyed."

The casual way she said it chilled Lily's heart. She thought of Ghorza, her brother Moth, the family they must have left behind. Something of her dismay showed in her face.

"Imperials," Murbul said shortly. "They required the land for one of their fortresses, and the chieftain would not bow down. They were slaughtered to the last child. I am told the fortress is now abandoned, the soldiers driven out by Forsworn."

"I do not think Ghorza knows of this," Lily said quietly. "She and her brother are the last, then."

"Aye," the Orc replied. Now she looked at Lily with a kinder eye. "My son will set you a task. Your deeds at the gate were... helpful, but not enough to satisfy him."

"Chief Burguk is your son?" Lily asked, startled. She quickly recovered, so as not to offend. "You must be proud. I have heard he is a strong leader."

"That he is," she replied, nodding, a faint smile on her face.

"What task must I perform?"

"When you are recovered, he will tell you. Rest now. You will need all your strength and cunning to succeed." Murbul patted Lily's knee, stood, and strode out of the room.


	5. Mother Murbul and ma'Lily

Murbul's curative restored Lily to full strength in a matter of hours, during which she sometimes spoke with Nagrub. He'd received a heavier dose of the poison, and was slower in recovering, though his stomach settled after a little while. Eventually, the elderly Orsimer woman returned, and bade Lily follow.

"Chief Burguk will see you now," she said. Lily rose and straightened herself as best she could, so not to appear as nervous as she felt. She followed the healer out of the longhouse.

She hadn't gotten a good look at the inside of the stronghold when the Orcs dragged her in before. Remembering, she realized she didn't know the fate of the other.

"Mother Murbul," she said, turning to the woman. "There were two at the gate. What became of the other one?"

"'Mother'?" she said, startled.

Lily blushed. "Forgive me, ma'am. I was taught to be respectful of my elders. The Nords call a woman of wisdom and age 'mother,' for she has earned the right to act as mother to all." She bowed her head to hide a rueful smile. "I and my friends were oft schooled by the mothers of Markarth for our deeds, small and large. Blood relation was not necessary in the teaching."

"I rather like it," Murbul said with amusement. "I am mother by blood to one in this hold, by heart to another, and wise woman to all. They _should_ respect me as mother. As to the other, he is well. Worse off than you, not as bad as Nagrub. He has already returned to the mine and his work."

Lily smiled with relief, then looked around her. The stronghold was nearly grassless, for Orsimeri feet must have walked the ground for generations. In front of the longhouse, a great bonfire burned. Beyond the flames, she could see the main gates, closed tight. Above them, an Orsimer woman in full steel plate stalked the walkway, her figure silhouetted against the late afternoon sky.

"That is Arob, Hunts-Wife and mother to Nagrub," Murbul said, noticing where Lily's eyes were focused.

"Should she not be at her son's side?" Lily said without thinking.

Mother Murbul frowned. "There is no greater duty for any than the security of the stronghold," she said sternly. "Had he fallen, she would not mourn him until another took her place upon the wall."

"Forgive me," Lily muttered. It seemed such a cold place all of a sudden, and she hugged herself.

"Child, you do not understand us," the woman said. "We are what survival and Malacath have made us. Now come; my son is not patient."

Not far from the longhouse stood a canopy of hides, supported by tall wooden poles. A male Orc who must have been Chief Burguk sat on a sturdy chair beneath the small shelter. His presence, even while seated upon his throne, commanded attention. Lily was once again startled by the eyes first, for one was similar to his mother's in its pearly whiteness, while the other bore a hint of the palest blue like his son's. He wore steel armor as if he were ready for any threat at all times. Like Murbul, his skin was brown, his hair black. He'd tied his beard into a peak with a thong, and his hair into a tail with several. Or perhaps the woman beside him had plaited his hair for him. Lily now noticed her standing at his side with a disdainful expression on her smooth olive face.

She had to look away quickly. The Orsimer woman's dress dipped low in the front, leaving little to the imagination. A heavy gold necklace hung down between her breasts, and gold bands decorated her bare arms. Hands on her hips, she regarded the Nord haughtily. It seemed the woman's lips had been darkened, as if by the juice of snowberries in the same way Lily and Merta had sometimes done when preparing for their innocent flirtations.

By Lily's admittedly sheltered upbringing, this was the sort of woman one should not be seen speaking with on the streets, lest others assume one sought her services, or worse, shared her profession.

"So," the chief said, folding his arms over his broad chest and leaning back, "you are the one from the side gate."

"Yes, Chief Burguk," she said humbly, keeping her eyes down.

"Look me in the eye, Nord!" he suddenly roared, and Lily nearly jumped out of her skin. She obeyed, though she trembled beneath his harsh glare.

"Better," he said gruffly. "I am told you seek Blood-Kin. Why?"

"I... fear...," she said, nearly gasping in terror of his temper, for it seemed to rise with each of her faltering words. "The Jarl... I... my parents..."

"You are a fugitive from your Jarl?" he bellowed, leaping to his feet. "We do not aid criminals! Get out of my hold or I will slay you with my bare hands!"

Lily backed up several paces, holding her hands out in a warding gesture. Her back slammed into the chest of another Orc she had not seen, who grabbed her arms to steady her, but did not allow her to turn around.

"I did nothing wrong!" she cried, her voice desperately pleading. "I witnessed a terrible thing, and the Thalmor Justiciars do not like witnesses. If they had found me in the city, I would have been slain because of what my parents did only. Please believe me!"

"What was done?" the Chief barked. "What did you see?"

"I saw them murdered," she said, trembling with the effort to speak without tears. "The Thalmor... slew them, with several others. They worshiped Namira. Such things... are forbidden."

"I see," Chief Burguk replied, calming slightly. "Namira is a vicious Prince. Her followers commit many repulsive acts, whether by her command or in hopes of pleasing her."

Lily slumped against the Orc who held her. "They feasted on the flesh of the dead," she said hollowly. "I found others of their cult not far from here. I... I killed them all."

"Where?" the Orc Chief snarled, a hand going automatically to the weapon at his hip.

Startled, the Nord gestured vaguely in the direction she'd come from. "Perhaps no more than an hour's walk that way."

The Chief exchanged an alarmed look with the Orc behind her, then looked at her once more. "If you have cleared them out, you have done us a great service indeed. I don't like neighbors who call down the wrath of the Thalmor upon their heads. That is not a group that pays close attention to who or what has truly offended them." He gestured, and the Orc released her, but she fought the temptation to turn. She did not think it would be considered respectful to show her back to the chieftain while still in audience with him. He settled once more in his chair.

"If your parents committed such a foul deed, I must agree with what was done. How do I know you did not revel in this feast as well?"

Lily stiffened, and mustered as much dignity as she could. "I did _not_. I knew nothing of their... secret, until I saw their blood spilled."

"Why not just tell your Jarl this?" the chieftain pressed. "Why flee your city and seek refuge among Orcs?"

"Jarl Igmund is in the pocket of the Thalmor," she replied. "I overheard them say they would round up the families of those they slew. I did not wish to make myself available for their interrogation. My friend...," she said, then hesitated. She hadn't expected to meet such resistance. Surely, with so few in the hold, they should welcome an extra hunter, another fighter on the walls... "My friend said there was much I could offer a settlement. She has always been... I know we are different, but... _please_."

"Your friend... Ghorza, was it?" he said, eyes flicking to Murbul still standing by. The wise woman nodded. "She sent you here?"

"Yes," Lily said, then blushed. "Well, not exactly." Seeing the Orc's brow furrow, she quickly explained, "I showed interest in the strongholds, and she recommended yours. She said you were an honorable man."

"That is for others to judge," he growled, though the Nord could see a hint of pride in him for hearing of his renown. "What have you to offer, then?"

"I can shoot well," she replied. "My father taught me to hunt, and I have never come home empty-handed. I have worked the forge at Ghorza's side. I can tan hides, forge armor and weapons. Jewelry, if needed." She glanced at the woman beside Chief Burguk, noting that she had moved closer to him.

"You are also foolhardy, throwing yourself into a battle you were not ready for," he snapped. She winced, and shrank back. Once more, she was prevented from retreating by the wall of Orc flesh behind her. "Still, you _did_ come to our aid, however clumsily." He met his mother's eyes for a moment and curled his lip. "There is a legend we tell of a great Orsimer smith who served under Jarl Pelagius of Solitude, before he became Emperor. He was the first to smelt Orichalcum ore. The armor and weapons he made... the designs can still be seen in how all Orsimer smiths of Skyrim forge such things today. His name is lost to us now. He is called Forgemaster. The Emperor gifted him with a set of gauntlets, and the tales say their enchantment was such that they absorbed the skills and knowledge of the Forgemaster." He paused, a frown on his face. "This treasure was taken from us by the Thalmor in the Great War. They deny the theft, and swear no such gauntlets exist, yet my brother saw them with his own eyes in your city."

"They were in a _museum_ ," the Orc behind Lily growled contemptuously in a thunderous voice. "Gathering dust. Guarded."

"Are they... still there?" Lily asked, her voice trembling. Though she was terrified by the idea of returning to the dangers of her home, could it be so easy to earn Blood-Kin? Just walk into the museum and pilfer the necessary item?

"No," the faceless voice of the chief's brother rumbled. "Disappeared. Nobody knows where."

The Nord sagged with disappointment.

"It is said the Stormcloaks looted the museum during the fighting," Murbul said, then spat upon the ground. "I believe the Forsworn took them."

"Women's gossip," Burguk said, waving a hand dismissively. "No one knows what became of them."

"The Forsworn are nothing but thieves and cutthroats," Murbul insisted. "If you intend to task the girl with such a hopeless quest, she should at least be told all that is known."

"I do," Chief Burguk snapped. "A task set by the chieftain is required by tradition. I will not give Blood-Kin to anyone who does not satisfy me." He set his jaw stubbornly. "Find these gauntlets, and you will have it."

"Too much, brother," the Orc behind her said. "There is no chance of success."

"Not my problem," the chief snarled in reply.

"It will be, if she gets herself killed chasing fables."

Chief Burguk rose from his chair once more, standing so close to Lily as he confronted his brother that she felt trapped between them. "You have spent too many years among city Orcs to remember to _hold your tongue_ when your chieftain is speaking."

"And you have been too long obsessed with something you cannot have!" The Orc at her back reached over her shoulder and thrust a finger into his brother's chest. "If Malacath _wanted_ you to possess the gauntlets, he would have heard your begging and guided you to them _years_ ago."

"I do not wish them for _myself_ , whelp!" the chieftain roared in fury. "They are for _Gharol_."

"Then you speak sense, brother," the Orc replied, somewhat subdued. "You owe her that."

The chieftain nodded. Lily relaxed a few degrees, as it seemed the argument had reached a conclusion, or at least a truce. Yet the mention of Gharol's name seemed to infuriate the Orsimer woman by Burguk's throne. She could barely suppress her rage and remain silent.

"I will seek them," Lily said boldly. "I will not fail you."

Chief Burguk appraised her for a moment. "It is settled, then. Bring them back here. Then you will be Blood-Kin."

"I will go with her," the Orsimer behind her said. "She should not venture into the wilds alone. It is dangerous."

"I can take care of myself," Lily snapped. "I do not require a nursemaid."

A smile curved Chief Burguk's mouth, his voice betraying a small measure of approval. "Foolhardy you may be, but such determination is valued. This is the way of things. You shall go alone, Lily of Markarth, and the Ashpit take those that hide this treasure from the Orcs of Skyrim."

Lily kept her back firmly straight and proud as the chieftain returned to his throne, apparently dismissing her. The Orc woman glared at Lily as if she'd done something offensive, though the Nord had no idea what it might be. A smirk on her face, she stepped around the chief and stood before him, her legs parted over his thigh. To Lily's shock, the Orsimer yanked down the front of her dress, exposing a breast to the chieftain. He leered, and put his mouth to her breast with relish. Chief Burguk's hands slid up her legs, under her skirts.

Turning away swiftly, her face undoubtedly a red beacon, Lily finally looked upon the Orsimer who had been behind her, the one Burguk called brother.

As many in the stronghold as she had seen with such eyes, she still sucked in a startled breath when she met this one's. Like his brother, he had one blank white eye and one pale blue. But that was where the resemblance between them ended. His skin was brown and leathery like Murbul's, making him seem older than the chieftain, yet something in his bearing told her he was far younger. His tusks were longer and sharper; it seemed he actively sought such a thing, for she saw the faint marks of a file on the ivory. His head was shaved as Nagrub's was, but no paint could be seen. He looked at her with such intensity, she trembled and dropped her eyes almost immediately.

"Come," he said, his voice a low growl. "Shel seeks to remind him of her place. She thinks he will forget his debt to Ghoral." Without waiting for agreement or acknowledgement, he grabbed Lily's elbow and steered her toward the front gates. He was much taller than her, as was the chief, and she felt almost lifted off the ground by the rough handling.

Angered by the inelegant exit he was forcing upon her, Lily dug her heels in and yanked herself free. He halted and glared at her.

"I will go," she snapped, straightening her leathers. "You needn't drag me out the door."

"I'm not...," he began, then sighed. "I do not mean to drag you. I want to speak with you, before you go."

"Very well," she said, trying and failing to be imperious as she reached up to rub her bruised elbow. "You may speak."

He grunted a laugh. "I have been out there, _ma_ 'Lily, and it is an unfriendly place. Keep your wits about you, do not take foolish risks, and you will survive."

"My name is simply 'Lily,' and if I do not take risks, I will not find the gauntlets, will I?"

"You are _ma'_ Lily if I say you are," he growled. "It suits you. Listen to me: see Murbul as well, before you leave. If she is right, you will meet Forsworn. Eh, it does not matter _what_ you seek, you will find _them_. They cover the hills like a plague. Take whatever advantage you can in fighting them."

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked. "We have not even been properly introduced."

His brows rose. "You require formal introductions? I was not aware." Grinning around his tusks, he said, "I am Ghorbash. And _you_ are _ma'_ Lily. That is what Khajiiti would say. I served with several in the Legion. Learned a few things."

"What does it mean?"

"It means you are a virgin," he said, his grin broadening. Lily's cheeks burned hotly once more, and she looked away. "You wear the mark of your maidenhood upon your face," he laughed. "It also means you are young." He looked at her almost longingly. His mismatched eyes flicked up and down, noting her form, her stance, her face. Memorizing every detail. "It would be my honor to teach you what I know of this land," he said gruffly.

"I have learned enough already," she replied, snorting slightly in dismissal. "There is nothing you can teach me."

He bowed his head to hide his thoughts, though she was unlikely to recognize what was coming over him, in any case. "I hope you do not come to regret leaving me behind," he said seriously. "Go to Murbul. She will give you poisons. Use them. The Forsworn do not deserve better."

"My father told me not to use them for hunting," she protested.

The Orsimer frowned. "Your father ate people. Your father is now dead. Who will teach you now?"

Though her lower lip quivered with angry grief, she denied him the satisfaction of seeing her weep. "As I said, I require no teaching. I will find the gauntlets for Chief Burguk, and he will make me Blood-Kin," she said, her voice trembling. Thrusting a finger into his hard-muscled chest, she hissed, "You will see." Turning, she stalked toward the gate. Arob saw her coming and opened the way for her.

Ghorbash watched her until the gate was shut.


	6. The Forgemaster's Legacy

How _dare_ he? Lily fumed as she stormed away from the stronghold. Thinking _his_ teachings were needed, even _wanted_! As if she were a child who could not manage things on her own.

 _I will show him_ , she vowed, _I will_ _find_ _these gauntlets without lowering myself to the_ _use of poisons. Though undeserved, I will take them without shedding a drop of Forsworn blood. I am a_ _ **hunter**_ _, and I shall_ _ **hunt**_ _._

The Nord made good on her promise. The first encampment of Forsworn she encountered, none even knew she prowled their perimeter, stalked their sentries, or rifled their belongings behind their backs. She flitted in and out before they ever noticed an unfamiliar footprint, and wondered at whose it might be. She could be as silent and wily as a fox when she wanted to be. Her father had schooled her well in stealth, and often called her by that name. Her friends, however, scoffed and said Fox Kit, eventually reducing it to Kit only. None of them understood the way of the hunter as she and her father did.

She learned quickly that only their leaders were likely targets, and applied her patient watchfulness to them alone. They often kept large chests in their shelters, containing the pilfered treasures of their enemies. Lily liberated none of these; she had her own quest to fulfill, and no desire to return the prizes of others to their owners. Only the gauntlets concerned her.

There seemed no end to the camps dotting the mountains and plains of the Reach, and none held the object she sought. She began seeing the Forgemaster's gauntlets in her sleep, when she was not plagued by white and blue eyes.

That cursed Ghorbash. Every time she thought of him, she flushed with anger. And she thought of him often, whenever she slunk away from a Forsworn camp empty-handed. He would sneer at her continued failure, no doubt. Call her ' _ma_ -Lily' and laugh. Tease and mock her.

Yet she had to admit that company would have been welcome. It was lonely in the wilds. There was no one to watch over her in the night, so she was obliged to take extra care in finding a resting place. But Ghorbash? She could imagine how conversations with him would go.

_Do you think this camp has promise, Ghorbash?_

_When I was in the Legion, we did not skulk around like vermin. We ran in, yelling and waving our swords._

_But they have done nothing to me! Why should I kill them?_

_They are Forsworn, and do not deserve better than that._

_My father would not approve._

_Your father ate people. Probably some of_ _**them** _ _. Must I teach you_ _**everything** _ _?_

"Shut up," she snarled out loud, staring sullenly into the flames of her campfire. Three weeks had passed, and there were no leads, no clues, no hints. If Chief Burguk wanted to get rid of a meddlesome Nord girl, he could not have picked a better way. Yet her stubbornness would hold a while longer. _One_ of these groups must know something.

As if in answer to her need, two startling pieces of information came at the same time. While Lily huddled in the bushes, waiting for the Forsworn camp to settle in for the night, a runner arrived with news from Whiterun Hold.

His words were franticly spoken, yet clear, as if he had memorized a single shocking message he was delivering to every encampment.

"Briarheart Phane bids you greetings, and has news from his agents in Whiterun," the man said between heaving gulps for air. "Dragons have returned, and there is war coming."

The entire camp suddenly flared into life, surrounding the exhausted man and begging for more information. He waved them to silence. "The Jarl of Windhelm to the east was nearly executed by the Imperial Legion, but a dragon attacked, and he escaped. He now leads a rebellion from his Hold. They call themselves Stormcloaks."

Another uproar shook the assembly. Many curses were shouted, for few did not remember their defeat at the hands of Ulfric Stormcloak, or the atrocities committed in Markarth.

"Aye, it is Ulfric himself who leads them!" the courier roared above the other Forsworns' voices. "But listen well: _dragons_ have returned, and there is one who has been revealed as Dragonborn. Recall the legends?"

A susurrus of murmuring ensued, as the people asked their neighbors if they knew the local myths.

"Is it a Breton, at least?" one woman cried, and many repeated her concern. The man shook his head and curled his lip in disgust.

"Nay, it is an _Orc_. They say he was destined for the block at Ulfric's side, and escaped in the same attack."

"Death to the Dragonborn!" a man cried, raising his weapon in the air defiantly. "He lies in the same bed as the Bear of Markarth!"

Many took up the call with enthusiasm, and Lily cringed.

Again, the courier raised his hands to calm the angry crowd. "His death is assured. Briarheart Phane is owed a favor; the Dark Brotherhood has been engaged. We all know his particular disgust with the beasts."

Lily's stomach clenched. In nearly the same moment, she felt the thrill inside, the empathetic pride with the people of Dushnikh Yal that an Orsimer would be so blessed by the Divines as to be Dragonborn, then the cold grip of fear for this unnamed man now targeted by the most effective guild of assassins known. Simply for being an Orc.

She must learn more. This Phane must have set the dogs upon the Orc. He apparently disliked their kind more than even the Nord leader, for there was no mention of sending the Brotherhood after Ulfric.

It suddenly hit her like a bolt of lightning. She was wasting her time among the rabble of the Forsworn. It was time she investigated the leadership. Surely one as important as this Phane person would either know the whereabouts of the gauntlets, or have them in his possession already.

"There are many others I must take my news to," the courier insisted when the crowd pressed him for more details. "I have told you all I know. Briarheart Phane's agents keep their eyes and ears open; more news will come to you, that is assured."

The man took his leave, laden with provisions and thanks for his words. From Lily's vantage point, she could hear a pair of men speaking after the rest dispersed by twos and threes, whispering about the portents of the news.

"What say you?" one man said, arms crossed, a skeptical look on his face.

"What is there to say?" the other answered. "Too little was spoken of the _true_ concern. War. Ulfric Stormcloak," he said, pausing to spit upon the ground, "leads a rebellion against the Empire. They are weakened from the war with the Aldmeri Dominion. They will need men to fight."

"Do you think Phane recognizes this?"

The other man spat once more. "He is wrapped in his redoubt, gazing upon the lands he has conquered, and gives no thought to the fight that still rages out _here_. I hear he stares at the Divine Whore and spills his seed upon her when none are around."

The two men laughed lecherously, and the Nord woman's brow furrowed. She had no idea what they were talking about, but it sounded filthy.

"Let him rot in his broken tower, then," the first said with amusement. "He and his whore. If the Empire is conscripting men to fight Ulfric, there will be fewer to defend these lands against us."

"Aye, and mayhap retaking Markarth will no longer be the dream of idleness it once was, eh?"

A shiver ran through the Nord at the man's threat. While it mattered not at all to her if the Thalmor were the first put to the sword in such a victory, there were many in the city who'd done nothing to provoke the Forsworn. She saw Merta's innocent face in her thoughts, and cringed, imagining the poor girl slain as these monsters raged through the streets.

But surely such concerns were for Jarls and guardsmen. What could she do? Venture back to the city and tell Jarl Igmund yet again that the Forsworn posed a threat to the safety of the city? Did he not hear these same words from nearly all his people? Only a week before Lily ran away, there were rumors that a woman was slain in the marketplace by a Forsworn sympathizer, in broad daylight. No, he was aware. How could he _not_ be?

Eventually, the encampment quieted, and Lily was able to retreat to a safer distance and make her plans. There was always a need for Imperial might in the Reach, so their own encampments could be found if one wanted to look for them. The Nord woman had seen the signs of one a few miles away, and headed in that direction.

By morning, she reached the first sentry, and wearily explained her need.

"I have heard that a Forsworn leader may be in this area," she told the man, "and I am... I seek the bounty on his head."

The Imperial frowned and looked her up and down skeptically. "There are many Forsworn hereabouts, ma'am. Who would you be looking for?"

"He is called Phane," she replied. "It is said he hides in a broken tower."

The man laughed. "Not 'a broken tower.' It is _called_ Broken Tower." Motioning for her to follow, he led her to a tent with a table upon which a map of Skyrim was spread. She could see small flags of red and blue pinned across the landscape. Markarth, she noted, was marked with a red flag.

"We are here," he said, placing a finger on a spot seemingly only inches away from Markarth, yet by her estimation they were miles and miles away. "Broken Tower is here."

Her eager eyes examined the terrain shown on the map, and determined that this Broken Tower was a redoubt built into the side of a mountain.

"What is this, running nearby?"

"That is a main road. You see it curves south to Rorikstead in Whiterun Hold," the man supplied. "I do not doubt your information. We are aware of a group of Forsworn that has taken possession of that place. They do not trouble us at the moment, and so we do not trouble them." He glared sternly at her. "If you seek to stir them up by slaying their leader, you will do so without our aid. We cannot spare men every time an adventurer comes along seeking wealth and glory. We make no move without orders from General Tullius, and he has shown no interest in Broken Tower."

"I did not come seeking aid," Lily snapped haughtily. "I only wanted to know the location of the fortress. I thank you."

"Your servant, ma'am," he replied, nodding his head respectfully. "Mind yourself, now. Pretty little thing like you... you'd better kill them all first thing."

Lily headed out, his words disturbing her thoughts. What did her prettiness have to do with anything? Was he attempting to woo her himself with his clumsy flattery? Preposterous. He was well beneath her station, and should know it just by looking at her.

Recalling the details of the map as well as she could, the Nord found the road easily enough, and trotted along it for several miles. As it curved around the mountain she felt must be the right one, she became warier, and took to slinking along through the undergrowth, yet with the road still within sight. Eventually, she got her first glimpse of the fortress.

It was a large one, with at least three levels and as many towers, though one appeared to be in ruins. Each level sported two Forsworn on guard and a number of hide tents. In front of the redoubt, another pair paced as well. There would be no sneaking into this place, as she had done countless times with the camps.

No, the front door would be foolish, but was it not likely the leader's quarters were at the top, just as the Jarl's keep was in Markarth? In the gathering gloom of evening, she scanned the mountainside, and determined that if she could get to the top from the other side, she stood a good chance of coming down on the top level without too much trouble.

Growing excited, for she must surely be within reach of her goal, Lily circled back the way she'd come and searched for a path leading up the mountain. Her keen hunter's sense revealed an animal trail, likely elk, that took her a fair distance up. As she neared the top, she edged back around toward the fortress, until she found herself looking down upon the top-most level, watching the sentries performing their vigilant duty.

Their eyes, however, were trained upon the road below, not the mountainside above.

She had no trouble wedging herself into a space between rock and bush, and sleeping what little remained of the night away. The following day, she chewed on spike grass as she watched the sentries change, noting their patterns. She was too high up to hear their voices, but that did not matter. The longer she watched, the more strongly she felt that _this was it_. The gauntlets must _surely_ be inside _that_ tower. She saw a man enter and leave multiple times, a man wearing a great antlered headdress and a hide drape upon his shoulders. The others seemed to fawn at his feet, and he walked with a superior demeanor. Yes, he was likely this Phane person.

When night fell once more, Lily's eagerness brought her down closer. She saw Phane exit the smaller tower on the left, and stride across to the other tower, likely going down to the main part of the fortress for a meal. Only one sentry remained; the other accompanied him. It was now or never.

Lily had prepared a few arrows especially for this, as she still held to her vow. She tied a strip of cloth about the arrow heads, packing several small stones in as well. She didn't worry about the added weight; she was shooting down from the side of the mountain, so there was little need for keeping the shaft high. Nocking one of these arrows, she aimed for the back of the sentry's head, and fired.

She was close enough, and her aim good enough, that the force of the blow knocked the sentry unconscious. The woman slid silently to the ground and lay still. Lily knew her time was limited, and scrambled down the hillside as quickly and quietly as she could.

Phane's tower was not locked, and Lily slipped inside.

The room was circular, as one would expect, and dimly lit by many candles. In fact, there were hundreds, and the Nord was reminded disturbingly of the bloody chamber of Namira's followers. Shaking herself, she scanned the room for movement. To her horror, she saw a shrine to Dibella on her left.

The Divine's altar was splattered with blood, littered with bones. The graceful, nude form of the goddess herself was likewise defiled. Lily clutched her heart, forcefully reminded of the pristine temple in Markarth, the kind and generous devotees, her and Merta's supplications there. She nearly wept.

It took her too many minutes to shake herself from the awful vision, and continue her search. She had no time; she could do nothing for Dibella right now, but she vowed she would make it right _somehow_.

To her right, the leader's bedchamber door stood open, and within she saw a great chest. Eyes alight, she hastened forward, and checked the latch. It was a simple lock, one she could have picked in her sleep. With eager hands, she manipulated the lockpick and the tumblers clicked into place. She flipped open the lid.

Even as her eyes fell upon a pair of iron gauntlets of ancient design, shimmering faintly from their still-potent enchantment, a sharp prick in her leg rendered her immobile.

Slowly, Lily listed to the side and toppled. It was a powerful poison, and her attempts to move were useless. To her horror, she heard the door opening and closing, and footsteps coming near. A slight gasp was followed by a soft chuckle.

"A rat caught in a trap," he said. "And such a lovely one. Is this what you sought?"

The Forsworn man removed the gauntlets and held them before Lily's terrified eyes. Sneering, he struck her across the face with them, nearly hard enough to knock her out.

Tsking mockingly, he hauled her up by the hair. "No, vermin. You won't be sleeping. Not for some time to come."

Lily could neither fight nor cry out as he bound her hands behind her. "Gerard has been slacking if his traps fail to catch such _large_ vermin," he continued conversationally as he pulled the cords tight. "And what is this? Not _Nord_ -made armor. Oh no. A Nord hand did not craft _this_." Helpless, she could do nothing as he used a knife to cut through the straps, peeling each precious piece of Ghorza's armor from her body until she lay in her sweat-dampened underclothes on the cold, stone floor.

She could not see him, unable as she was to turn her head, yet she knew this must be Phane.

"Vermin," he said sternly, as if scolding a child, "you wear armor made by Orcs, do you not? You needn't answer. I have fought their like for many years. I know their hands. Whether they wear _these_ or not!" He thrust the Forgemaster's gauntlets in her face once more. "Yes, I know who seeks these. Oh, I could not give you a name. Whether the beasts have them or not is no concern of mine. They are the attack dogs of the Empire. Did you know this? Of course you did. You were sent by them. Do you think I have not hurried others to their ancestors who tried to wrest my treasure from me?"

He was mad. Lily shivered, listening to the tone of his voice and praying to Talos for help. She begged Dibella, swearing she would do all within her power to cleanse the defiled shrine if only she could be freed. But no sound came from her mouth, and no ears heard her thoughts.

"Now, we shall discuss matters, you and I," Phane said, dragging her by the hair across the floor. He dropped her before Dibella's altar and she rolled onto her back. "I find I am more talkative when my hunger is satisfied."

Lily's eyes widened in shocked revulsion. The man wore no shirt, and very little ornament upon his torso, yet that was not what held her gaze. Where his heart should have been, there was a gaping hole. What looked like a fist-sized seedpod resided within, and thick sutures of leather stretched across the gap, doing nothing to close the hideous wound. He smirked at her expression.

"Were you a man, I would cut off your hands for your thievery," he said, discarding the hide kilt he wore. "Were you a man, I would slit your throat for this insult." He roughly yanked off her underclothes. "But you are a woman. Your death needn't be rushed."

A choking scream fought its way out of her as he forced her paralyzed legs apart.

"Yes, scream if you like," her captor growled. "I do not mind if you fuss."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of the Orsimer Dragonborn is a direct reference to my other fic, "Duty Calls," which is occurring in the same timeframe as this story. Statement of "the atrocities in Markarth" is a reference to what is recorded in the in-game book, "The Bear of Markarth: The Crimes of Ulfric Stormcloak" by Arrianus Arius. The map the Imperial soldier shows Lily is something you can find in most Empire-sympathetic capitols, usually in the Jarl's longhouse. I'm assuming that, though it isn't reflected in game, any strategic Imperial encampment would likewise be equipped with at the very least a local map of the Hold, likely with similar markings to indicate hostile and friendly locations, especially now that war is brewing. The 'seed pod' in Phane's chest is a briar heart, installed as part of a ritual conducted by a hagraven revered by each particular group of Forsworn.


	7. The Sworn Oath

Men came at the sound of her cries, but not to her rescue. They stood and watched as Phane raped her, some fondling themselves in greedy anticipation. Lily wept, pleaded, fought when the use of her limbs returned, but nothing helped. When the Briarheart spent himself, gasping for breath and grinning at the smear of virgin's blood on her thighs, he stepped aside and gestured grandly.

There were five of them, but Lily could not tell where one ended and another began when they descended like lesser wolves feasting upon the remains of the alpha's kill. And all the while that the men slaked their lusts, Phane spoke as one lecturing to school children.

"It is fascinating, the history of the Forgemaster's Fingers," he began, casually affixing his kilt about his hips once more. "The Orc-beasts would say that they were a gift of the Emperor, and this is so, but where did he get them himself? Hmmm? _We_ know. They were stolen from _us_. These should better be called the _Reachmen's_ Fingers. Long have they been soiled by the hands of those... animals, using them to forge weapons for the Empire, weapons used against _us_. Garard," he paused, tapping the shoulder of a man about to take his turn on the squirming, weeping woman, "you have displeased me. Vermin of this size should not have made it so far. No cunt for you. Seek your pleasures elsewhere, if you please."

The man, Garard, grinned in spite of the reprimand, and dutifully wrestled Lily onto her hands and knees. The other four laughed loudly.

"That's better," Phane said, then released a long-suffering sigh. "Would someone please stop her screaming? I can't hear myself... Ah, thank you, Philip. Ingenious. But mind the teeth. Your wife would be displeased if you returned to her 'empty-handed,' as it were. Now where was I? Ah yes. The thieving Pelagius the Mad and his little pet Orcs. Friends of yours I presume? Yes? Or simply your employers? No matter. They shall not see their prize, and you, my dear, shall not see the light of another day. I _will_ kill you, make no mistake. But... not just yet. I believe there are services you may provide for a time."

Seemingly done with his speech, Phane turned away from the spectacle at Dibella's feet, and went to a bookshelf on which drums and flutes rested. He took a steel dagger that was also there, and approached the writhing mass of bodies.

"Let me see now, there are five of you? And myself. That's six," he said thoughtfully. "Do stand aside, gentlemen. If you are not finished yet, there will be time enough in a moment. She has no immediate plans." Reluctantly, the men backed off.

Lily lay in a broken pile. She had never imagined in her most sinful dreams that the touch of a man was so abhorrent. Her eyes found the defiled Dibella above her, and she cursed the naïve girl she was, appealing to the goddess for a boy's kiss. She wanted death now, rather than the memory of what had been done. Unbidden, the face of Ghorbash appeared in her mind, and her eyes swam with tears she thought she had no more of. A fool, she was, to throw his offer of help back in his face.

"I confess I am one who likes to keep inventories," Phane said as he knelt beside her. She cringed from him and whimpered. "For example, I know down to the last grain what our wheat stores are at this very moment. I could tell you all the potions and poisons, and how many vials of each, our lovely Anala has brewed. And I shall keep a tally now of how many times I or my men have fucked you."

She hadn't thought her throat could support one more scream, and yet it did as the Forsworn leader carved six lines into her right thigh.

"Do be diligent, gentlemen," he warned over his shoulder. "I shall not be pleased with you if I lose count." They nodded, leering at the Nord. Rising, Phane laid the dagger on the altar. "Now, have any missed their opportunity? For I have counted, and I do not like inaccurate records." Two men raised their hands. "Carry on, then."

* * *

Lily lay like a dead thing in the cell nearest the altar, her eyes upon the back wall. The leader had generously, as he put it, provided a ragged shift 'for her comfort' before tossing her in. She could hear him snoring in his bedchamber across the tower room.

The five men had departed once they finished with her, and Phane took her once more before retiring, which required a seventh cut. For the sake of accuracy.

_You'll be no use to us if you spread your legs for that boy, Lily!_

She started. It was almost as if her mother stood at her side, so clearly did she recall the argument. It was so innocent, the kiss she shared with Borain in the shadows outside the temple. They were young and thought themselves in love. Lily hadn't even fully understood what 'spreading her legs' meant, for her mother kept such knowledge from her. All she knew at the time was that their lips had touched, and the state of her legs had nothing to do with it. That she must remain 'innocent,' whatever that meant, she knew, for her mother especially wished to join their family with the prestigious Silver-Bloods, and her 'innocence' was a thing of great value in the bargaining. But _all_ the parents of the well-bred girls in Markarth sought a Silver-Blood marriage, and likely all the families in the Reach itself, for the Silver-Blood influence ran far and wide. Such mysteries as what her mother implied were whispered and giggled about by Lily and Merta, but not fully understood.

Now she knew. She knew the pain and humiliation visited upon a woman by a man. She recalled now very clearly how her mother kept her father at a distance, barely consenting to his kisses. Now she knew why.

This was what it was, then. Her fanciful dreams of love had no place. Even the plans of her mother, now likely rotting in the Halls of the Dead, were thwarted, for Lily could no longer claim innocence. She could no longer say she did not know the touch of a man.

She was no longer _ma_ -Lily.

* * *

The Forsworn leader's waking brought new horrors. Word had spread about the fortress during the night, and he was greeted at the door to his sanctuary by four men who had missed the previous night's entertainment. Phane acted the gracious host as this oversight was mended, and applied the additional cuts to her leg himself.

Always, her humiliation was visited upon her before Dibella's profaned altar, as if in mockery of the goddess herself. When required by Phane or his men, she was dragged from her cell and thrown down upon the floor at the goddess's feet. She learned to remain still and quiet, like a fawn in the tall grass, until it was over. Her only means of judging the passage of time was when Phane slept. She began keeping a tally of her own, separating a straw from the floor of her cell each time the man's snores could be heard.

When she had counted five straws, and her leg bore more than twenty lines, Phane decided she should take on additional responsibilities in the redoubt.

"You are no doubt unaware that the snow is flying outside," he told her as he unlocked the door to her cell. "It is quite cold outside. And of course, this being a stone fortress, even inside, it can be bone-chilling at night. As you are no doubt aware." When she was not quick enough in rising and leaving the cell, he snarled and dragged her out by the throat. Just as quickly, his countenance smoothed once more, and he carried on. "Therefore, you shall be put to good use here. There is not much to you, but you will serve."

Taking her arm, he pulled her roughly to his bedchamber. "Take off the shift; you won't be needing it," he remarked as he pulled a thick fur from the cupboard. Lily obeyed; there was never any point to protestation.

"Your new duty, vermin, is to warm my bed," he explained, shoving her toward it. "I do not like a cold bed, and while there are women here who would give of themselves gladly... well, let us say that my preference for now is _you_. Make yourself comfortable. I shall return after dinner. I expect to find you where I have left you," he warned as she climbed into the bed. He laid the fur over the bed, tucking it about her shoulders as if she were a child. "I shall know if you leave. And there are guards outside my door at all times. Unless you wish to service them in my absence, I suggest you stay where you are." He smiled coldly, and left.

She despised herself for feeling any gratitude, especially knowing this was not done with her welfare in mind, but she was warm for once, and took advantage of it. Lily knew there would be at least one more line cut into her flesh by morning, but for now, she was alone, out of her prison, and warm. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to relax for the first time in a week.

Thoughts began to crowd into her mind, desperate to gain purchase now that there was room for something other than misery. Her mind went to Dushnikh Yal, and now she remembered her promise. The gauntlets. They had become greater than her means of becoming Blood-Kin, and now seemed to encompass even more than a lost treasure of the Orsimer. Whether they were originally stolen from the Forsworn or not was of little worry to Lily; they had proven themselves unworthy of even the smallest consideration of a claim. No, the gauntlets would return to the Orsimer. She would see to it that Phane knew this before his eyes closed in death. Chief Burguk would have them if she had to kill everyone in the fortress to do it. The thought did not disturb her in the least. Only the fact that she was _not_ disturbed gave her pause. But then, the Forsworn had taken even more from her than the Thalmor.

She would never again look upon a man with desire, never dream of soft kisses shared in a dimly lit passageway, never allow herself to even think about love, for the needs of a man were too shameful to assuage. Lily's heart became stone inside her.

Yet she had sworn an oath when she set out, not to spill Forsworn blood, and not to use poison to find the gauntlets. Not to _find_ them, that is...

Her thoughts were interrupted by the return of Phane. He smiled as he entered the room. "Good. Just as I left you. I am quite chilled," he said as he stripped. "I believe it would please me for you to remain here tonight. There was much talk in the dining hall of this 'rebellion' your Stormcloaks are waging. Mention of Ulfric always... angers me." He pulled back the fur and looked at her with a sigh. "The question is, should I apply my night's count now, or wait until morning. There is the consideration of your whimpering, of course. Perhaps the morning would be best. I do not wish to be constrained by a set number. It is likely that I shall be quite restless this night."

* * *

Lily stared at the three freshly cut lines on her thigh. The wounds now marched more than halfway around her thigh. She had all but given herself up to despair when she remembered Shel.

During the night, as Phane violated her for the third time in as many hours, she remembered the Orsimer woman of Dushnikh Yal. The third wife. The one who, according to Ghorza, mostly just 'spread her legs' for the chieftain, rather than serve any useful purpose in the stronghold. Shel, who used her body to remind Chief Burguk of her place, as Ghorbash said, and sought to make the Orc forget another woman to whom he owed a debt.

There was nothing else she could imagine using her body for, than to fool this vile man into complacency. What else could she do? She was soiled beyond what any of her station could accept. There would never be an offering of marriage for one as ill-used as she, not that she would ever be interested. Men were to be avoided, their touch denied at all costs. They were foul beasts, not be trusted.

She longed to see Mother Murbul, for she sensed in the woman a kind mother's heart when she spoke with her so long ago. What little child remained in her cried for the comfort of a mother's embrace. Or perhaps she only remembered what she wanted to. Though the thought of Ghorbash learning of her shame was unendurable, she reached for his strength longingly. Perhaps her memories of _him_ were just as false, yet she was comforted nonetheless.

In the end, it would not matter. While Phane slept, finally letting her be, Lily swore an oath. Phane would die by her hand, bloodlessly, as her prior vow stipulated. His men would suffer the same fate. If needs be, so would the women. _All_ would perish. And once they were all dead, she would cleanse the shrine of Dibella as she could not cleanse herself. Then she would take the Forgemaster's Fingers to Dushnikh Yal.

And then what? She wanted to laugh. There was little chance that she would make it so far as that. If she did... well, then she would decide.

The night after she swore her oath, Lily found herself once more filling the office of bedwarmer for Phane. She'd spent the intervening time, when his men were not relieving themselves inside her, pushing all that was Lily as far back as she could. There could be no allowances for doubt or even propriety now.

"You should be interested to know," Phane said as he prepared himself to join her, "that some of my men have found themselves a minor distraction from your charms. One of those trade caravans full of cats was seen not far from here, and they go to learn if a fur-covered cunt surpasses a flesh one. I confess, such a question intrigues me as well, but I find the comforts of home a wee bit more to my liking when the weather is this cold."

Lily hoped his men would meet their deaths by tooth and claw this night, but kept such comments to herself. He settled under the furs facing her.

"Mmmm," he murmured close to her ear, and she shivered with revulsion. "It will be a shame to slay you, but that time will come eventually. For now, be a dear and spread your legs. My cock is cold and wants warming."

"Puh...please me," Lily whispered, wincing at the sound of her own voice saying such things. "Just... this once. I beg of you."

Phane's eyebrows rose slightly. "Indeed? The vermin speaks words without screaming? That _is_ unexpected." He chuckled as he rolled on top of her. "Let it not be said that Briarheart Phane cannot be generous when asked so humbly for pleasure. Very well, vermin. I shall please you."

No matter his words, or the moderation he showed in her defilement, it was not pleasant by any stretch, though Lily forced herself to appear aroused. She recalled the sounds the men made when their fluids emptied into her, and did her best to echo their moans and expressions. Her seeming willingness fooled him; he peaked quickly, so taken was he by the change in her. Breathless, he gazed down at the Nord in wonder.

"Why, my little vermin, I _am_ surprised."

"I want... none but you, Phane," she said. It was difficult to hide the nausea from her voice, but at least it was too dark for him to discern it in her face. "You must... keep the others away. Some of them whisper to me. They wish to take me from you. I... could not bear it."

His conceit, as she had surmised, was greater than his suspicion. "Ah, that they shall not do. You are _mine_. There is no inch of your body I have not claimed."

"When you are not here, they come for me, Phane," she said. It seemed to please him more when she spoke his name. "I am helpless. They talk of spiriting me away under your very nose, laughing at you as they do."

His face contorted with swift rage. Still atop her, he frightened her with the malice radiating off him. "Laugh, will they?" he growled, forcing entry once more. He thrust hard into her, as if she were the transgressor, not his men. "No one laughs at Phane! Do you hear? _No one_! What I claim is _mine alone_. This land, this fortress, this tower, this cunt! _All_ _mine_!"

She could say nothing more, and bit her lip to suppress the cries of pain that fought for release. It took a monumental effort to respond to his assault, to move her hips with his, to seem pleased by him. She closed her eyes to his furiously contorted face, and forced another into her mind. _He_ would not take her in anger. _He_ would not cause her pain. _He_ would not shame her...

* * *

At first, the new arrangement frustrated her. Lily now accompanied the leader wherever he went, even down to the fortress's grand hall, close to the front entrance, where the Forsworn took their meals. For the first time, she saw the women. There were three of them, all wives to men who had frequently raped her in Phane's tower. They glared at Lily as though she purposely sought their men's favor, as if the Nord seduced them from their wives' beds. Whenever those women were near enough, they spat upon her.

Worse than that, however, was the liberties Phane took while among them. It was horrible enough to be assaulted before the eyes of Dibella in her own shrine, quite a bit more to be taken on the floor of the grand hall during dinner with all the residents present. With her new plans in place, Lily had to suffer further humiliation by appearing to enjoy being put on display in that manner.

Soon, however, she began to aid the leader by fetching him things. At first, it was nothing more than a tankard of mead, poured fresh from a bottle bearing the Honningbrew label. Then she brought him additional helpings of food, and cut his meat for him. Eventually, she was rewarded with cooking duty, which she shared with the alchemist, Anala.

The woman was not kind, and did not like to hear Lily speak, though she herself seemed to never stop talking.

"A regular whore, you are," she snarled as she pushed a bucket of potatoes across the table for Lily to cut up. "Wasn't enough to have the Briarheart's cock up your backside, you went for _all_ of them, didn't you, slut? Smaller pieces, vermin! Or is your mouth so big from sucking cocks you can fit half a potato in without trouble? I suspect you've got a cunt a giant would get lost in as well."

Though the woman's bitter words stung, Lily knew better than to rise. Phane may have cut off access by the other men, but she still received the full measure of his anger if any in the fortress were displeased with her. She was punished even when the wrong committed had nothing whatsoever to do with her.

"I don't much care now," Anala growled. "My husband has finally found his way out of that cave between your legs. I daresay he's brought some contagion to our bed, though. I made him drink an elixir before he touched me if I knew he'd been fucking you, filth."

It was a week after she began helping Anala with the cooking that she saw a ray of hope at long last. One of the pantries off the main hall was locked at all times. Lily had wondered what might be inside. On this day, two of the men came into the fortress bearing a third between them. He had suffered terrible wounds in a skirmish with Imperials, and was barely clinging to life. They laid him out on the nearest table and called for aid.

Anala wasted no time, and immediately hurried to the locked pantry. Lily accompanied her. Before her eyes, she saw the most wonderful vision of her young life: shelves laden with bottles and vials containing a wealth of potions and poisons, as Phane had mentioned weeks before. Here they were, hidden away, taken out only in emergencies. She had no time to pilfer any before Anala found what she was looking for and locked the door once more.

The healing potion restored the wounded man, and he was taken to his room to recover. Lily had noted where Anala kept the key, and glanced at the woman's pocket several times.

All that night, she saw the key and the vials in her mind, barely able to think of anything else. She gave distracted responses to Phane's rough attentions, but he was so convinced of her lies that he didn't much care. Only the morning's routine cutting broke through. It was his comment that chilled her, and forced her to listen.

"Ah, look at this," Phane said, examining her thigh. "We've nearly gone completely round. I will have to decide whether your usefulness is at an end, or there is a need to continue the count on the other leg."

She hated what she was about to do, but survival was paramount now. Lily embraced his neck, spread her legs wide, and pulled him down on top of her once more. "If it pleases you, Phane, I would like them to match."

His smile was as cold as ever, but he took what she offered with relish. Yet he gave no answer.

Taking his silence as impetus to hurry, Lily shadowed Anala closely for the rest of the day. The Forsworn woman was in one of her moods, and seemed to particularly enjoy abusing Lily. The Nord paid her words little mind; they were mostly grumblings about shortages of mead, ungrateful husbands, and the perceived breadth of Lily's passages.

At one point, Anala removed her apron and threw it on the table. "Finish the stew. We've run out of leeks. I'll have to fetch them from the garden." Then she turned and stomped out of the hall.

Lily was alone and unwatched. Without hesitation, she reached for the apron and pulled the key from the front pocket. The hall was empty at this time of day; the men were all about their duties on the walls or planning the next attack with Phane up on the second level. She stole over to the locked pantry and let herself in.

It would not take Anala long to retrieve a sufficient number of leeks and return, so Lily grabbed several vials without pause. She knew they were all poisons; the ones containing curatives and healing draughts were in a different cabinet. Lily took as many as she could carry and hurried out, locking the door behind her.

The stew pot hung over a pit fire in the center of the hall, and into that pot she poured the contents of a dozen vials of various poisons. Then she stashed the empty bottles in a barrel, replaced Anala's key, and went back to the haunch of venison she was cutting up. The woman returned shortly after with a bundle of ripe leeks in her arms. Lily put all thoughts of the deadly stew out of her mind.

When the evening meal was ready, the entire complement of the fortress filed down and took their seats. Lily joined Anala and the other two wives as they served the men a generous bowlful each. The Nord showed no outward signs of distress as she handed a bowl to Phane and sat beside him with her own.

Feigning an overly hot serving, she held a spoon up and blew slowly across it, trying not to scan the faces around her as they eagerly shoveled down their final meals. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Phane eating just as enthusiastically. All of them emptied their bowls before anything happened.

The bizarre mixture of such diverse poisons affected them in several different ways. Two men pitched face down upon the table without a sound. One man staggered back from the table and began to vomit. The others also rose, gazing about them in alarm as each one flushed bright red, and flecks of foam began to form on their lips. The convulsions came next. The one who began vomiting was by now curled up on the floor, his stomach coming out of his mouth as his body shook violently. Anala herself tried to cry out, clutching desperately at her throat as it slammed shut and cut off her air. She collapsed. All around her, Lily watched with grim satisfaction as one by one, her enemies perished in so many undignified ways.

Turning, she looked coldly at Phane, who was paralyzed and convulsing, the melted remains of his intestines pouring out his mouth. He looked pleadingly into her eyes. She smirked. "The Forgemaster's Fingers will grace the hands of an Orc by the next full moon."

Phane glared at her, yet could do nothing else.

"Scream, if you are able," she suggested as she leaned comfortably back in her chair. "I shall enjoy watching you fuss."


	8. Blood-Kin

Lily knew Phane had expired when his body went limp and what was left of his bowels released. She smiled. It was appropriate, she thought, that such a vile man should take his final rest in his own filth. The Nord slowly rose and surveyed the silent hall.

The bodies were spread wide, covering the floor from wall to wall. Some had foolishly sought escape, perhaps going mad and thinking they could run away from what was happening inside them. It made her laugh, a hollow sound that echoed in the stillness. None moved, their twitching and convulsing halted.

Turning back to the man who had tormented her for months, she took up a knife and sliced through the leather thongs holding the briar seed pod inside his chest, and pocketed the thing. He gave nothing of value in life; perhaps Mother Murbul would benefit from the alchemical qualities his heart might possess.

Though she wished to take her leave as quickly as possible, and put this hated place as far behind her as her feet could carry her, there were yet promises to keep. The gauntlets she bought at so dear a cost were still in that chest, and she had vowed twice in her captivity to restore the shrine of Dibella. Sighing with resignation, she fetched buckets and filled them at the cistern, then made her slow way up to the top level of the fortress.

She paused at the door to her former prison, and fought a brief battle before turning the handle and entering. He was dead, she reminded herself. They _all_ were. There were none to attack her, none to abuse her, none alive who even knew what happened in this place. Swallowing, she opened the door and stepped inside.

Her hands shook as she swept the animal remains from the altar and out the door. She choked down tears as she scrubbed at the dried blood and other crusted fluids that stained the altar and the statue itself.

How could the goddess lie so basely? There was no comfort in the sort of love she influenced. No pleasure in it. No dignity. Was Dibella just as fooled as Lily had been? Were they _both_ victims of men's lies?

When the last vestiges of the Forsworn's defilement had been cleansed, and Lily was able to look upon the goddess's beautiful form with satisfaction in her work, she felt something stir in her mind.

_You are a fulfiller of promises, child._

She started, and whirled around, searching for the speaker, but she was alone. Staring at the shrine, she thought she must have gone mad.

_Fulfill your promise. Seek Murbul's aid, lest you continue to suffer what was done._

"What... who speaks?" Lily whispered.

_You know me. You carry Phane's curse within you. Go quickly. Let nothing divert your steps._

"I do not understand," she replied. But she did, even as the words left her mouth. The thought horrified her.

_I can give you nothing more. You belong to another now._

"Who?" she begged. "Who do I belong to?"

_The Prince of Orcs, Father of the Sworn Oath. You have pleased him. Seek his favor in Dushnikh Yal._

Lily realized she had sunk to her knees. A sob came from her. "Please. Tell me. Why are such lies told to women?"

 _Child_ , the voice said softly, for it was fading away, _no lies were told._

* * *

Nagrub almost didn't recognize the woman who approached the front gate, so long had it been since she left, and so changed was she. The Nord wore a ragged dress and filthy boots, and clutched a bundle to her breast as if it were a precious treasure. When she looked up at him, he was unsettled by her eyes.

He hastened to open the gate, and stood aside as she shuffled past. Pausing, she turned her head slightly toward him and said in a cold voice, "I have returned. Tell Chief Burguk I did not fail."

The Orsimer secured the gate and ran to the longhouse where Chief Burguk was taking his evening meal. He spared a single glance behind before entering; the woman stood where he left her, unmoving.

"Chief," Nagrub said in the front room of the longhouse. "She's back."

"Who?" the chief asked with little interest as he cut his meat. Shel sat beside him, one hand spooning broth into her mouth, the other stroking Burguk's thigh.

"The Nord," his son replied.

Chief Burguk vaulted off the bench and spun around. "Lily?" Nagrub nodded. "Has she...?" Again, the Orc nodded. A look of triumphant relief crossed Burguk's face. "Gather our people at the fire. All of them."

Nagrub blocked his father's exit, holding his gaze for a moment. "Something is wrong," he said quietly. "She is... dead inside."

The chief stared at him, unsure. But if she had the gauntlets... Shaking himself, he brushed past his son and bolted out the door. Shel rose haughtily, glared at Nagrub, and followed her husband.

The chief strode swiftly across the dusty ground toward the slight figure. His hands shook eagerly.

"Lily of Markarth," he said in greeting, a smile upon his face. Yet as he neared, he was startled by her reaction. She cringed, and stepped back, maintaining a distance of several feet between them. She would not look him in the eyes, and her manner told him not to demand it of her. He halted. "It is good to see you well," he said awkwardly.

"I am alive," she replied.

"I have called the hold together," he said. "It is a great thing you have done." Frowning, he wondered if she would loose her hold on the bundle he assumed concealed the gauntlets, so tightly did she grip them.

The Orcs of Dushnikh Yal began to gather as Nagrub ran from one end to the other calling them out. Even the ones on the walls were excused from their vigils for such an important event.

None were prepared when Ghorbash saw her, and rushed over. Her departing words had haunted him for weeks; he'd feared for her safety every day and night for months. He'd seen her face whenever he closed his eyes. To see her whole and alive and _here_ at last... He hurried up to her and heedlessly embraced her.

The woman exploded, flailing her limbs and screaming at the top of her lungs. She tore herself free of his arms, fell to the ground, and kicked at his legs, forcing him to retreat out of reach. All the while, she held the bundle before her as a shield and wept hysterically.

No one moved. Ghorbash stared at her in confusion and shame for having frightened her so. He exchanged an alarmed look with his brother. Murbul shouldered past him and knelt beside the Nord woman.

"Child," she said softly.

Lily slowly raised her wet, red-rimmed eyes to the elderly Orsimer's, and choked back her tears. Murbul needed no words spoken. She closed her eyes and bowed her head. She slowly rose and turned toward her son.

"Finish your business quickly, Burguk," she snapped.

The chieftain crouched down before the prone woman, wincing when she flinched. "Lily. Have you found them? The gauntlets?"

She nodded, and unfolded her arms stiffly, allowing the bundle to roll onto the ground. The Orc reached for them slowly, for it seemed any sudden move he made caused her distress. He pulled the bundle toward him, and opened the cloth.

His face twitched as he struggled to contain his emotions. He reverently lifted the gauntlets in both hands. Even holding them, he could feel the tingle across his skin from their enchantment. Rising, he turned to the people of his stronghold, his wives, his sons, and held the gauntlets out before him.

"Gharol," he said thickly, his voice shaking slightly. An Orsimer woman stepped forward. "It is my fault Lash ran away. I did not recognize... I did not listen. Here." He pressed the gauntlets into Gharol's hands. "Pour your heart into a blade for our child. I would have her know... she is welcome back if she... I will listen when she speaks."

The woman's yellow eyes glistened. "You honor me, my husband." Turning to Lily, she said, "And I honor _you_ , Lily of Markarth." She bowed respectfully. "Burguk. It would please me to discuss this with you tonight."

"As you will," the chieftain replied gently, taking her hand and pressing his lips to her knuckles.

"What of _me_?" Shel snarled, pushing her way to the front. Several of the Orcs gathered there growled in contempt. "It is _I_ who best pleases you, Burguk." As if to illustrate, she pulled the front of her dress down to expose both breasts. "I bear the scars of your pleasure, husband! _She_ bears none!"

Gharol raised an eyebrow. "They are old, but I have them. I am simply more dignified in my possession." Sighing, she looked the fuming third wife up and down for a moment. "All here know of my love for Burguk. I have nothing to prove."

A laugh rippled through the stillness, and Arob approached, shoulders shaking with mirth. "Burguk, you have lost your touch if you still have not tamed that wench."

"I will hear no more of it," he snapped. "Shel, you will bed down elsewhere tonight. Gharol and I have... catching up to do." Turning an apologetic eye to Arob, he said, "I suspect there are... words we would share as well."

"If you think you are up to it, old man," she said with a grin, and punched his shoulder.

Chief Burguk chuckled. An entertainment in bed Shel certainly was, but out of it, there was nothing to recommend her. He cursed the day he accepted the woman as part of that trade agreement with Mor Khazgur. Chief Larak's daughter had proved to be more trouble than she was worth. Burguk longed for better days, when it was just him and his first two wives. They never felt threatened by one another, never held anger in their hearts for more than a day before resolving disputes on their own without using him as a shield or a weapon. Not like Shel.

Shaking himself, he turned once more to the crumpled Nord on the ground at his feet.

"Rise, Lily of Markarth," he said solemnly. She obeyed him. Bereft of the bundle, she wrapped her arms about herself protectively. It pained the chieftain to see it. "You have succeeded in the task set for you. Let it be known in Dushnikh Yal, and all other strongholds across Skyrim, that you are Blood-Kin. The gates are open to you."

A cheer went up among the Orcs, and they raised their fists in the air. The sound of their voices made Lily flinch, but she held still.

As they dispersed to their evening chores, Burguk took his mother aside. "Tend her. I suspect she paid a bitter price for this."

"More than you know," Murbul growled harshly. The elder Orsimer gently guided Lily by the elbow to her hut by the guard tower near the front gates. "You do not need to tell me, child," Murbul told the Nord woman once they were out of earshot of all others. "Your face speaks your pain."

"I need something to kill the thing he put in my body," Lily murmured. "If it slays me as well, it is no matter. I have fulfilled my oath and my promises."

"There is one here who would be terribly displeased if anything should happen to you," Murbul said. "Sit. What I must do for you requires much preparation, and it will not be pleasant."

"I brought this for you," she replied, removing the briar heart from her pocket. "He no longer needed it."

Grimacing, the Orsimer healer accepted the vile object. While it was a much sought-after ingredient, this particular one stunk of shame and horror. "I hope you paid him well for his deeds."

"He and all his men," Lily said. Her voice lacked any emotion at all, so different from the girl who left here not two months ago.

Murbul winced. So it was worse than she thought. She furiously pounded the necessary herbs into a fine powder. "One day, you will not hate my son for sending you. I will not be angry if today is not that day."

"I do not hate him," the Nord woman said. "My hate is for those who harmed me, and they are now dead. All dead. Every last one. And their wives, for they were cruel to me."

"They are not the only ones who are dead," Murbul said gently. "But you survived, and you shall live again." Taking a deep breath, the old woman turned toward Lily. "This is the unpleasant part. The paste must be put inside you, to do its work. Just... lie back. I will do my best not to hurt you, but it may sting."

Lily shrugged, then did as she was told. She had spent so much time with her legs apart and vile things happening between them that this would be nothing.

Murbul was startled by the neat row of cuts spaced close together, encircling her thigh. "What is this?" she asked. Some were fresher than others, but none seemed older than a few months.

"That is Phane's tally of my fucking," the Nord replied dully. "He wished to keep count."

There were many things Murbul had seen during her long life, some more horrible than others. The marks made upon this woman, and the purpose of them, filled her with revulsion. She could not rid the woman of the final insult fast enough, and generously slathered the paste inside Lily's womb.

"You may cramp, when your body expels its contagion," she remarked. "But then it will be over, and you will be cleansed."

"I shall never be clean," Lily replied. "I scrubbed and scrubbed, but I could still feel everything. Not like her statue. The filth came off easily enough. But I can't seem to stop feeling it, no matter what I do."

"Statue?"

"Dibella. There was a shrine in his chambers. They all took me at her feet. So often." She looked down at her leg, now covered again by the skirt of her dress. "So many times, I would not recall had he not thoughtfully kept an accounting for me, lest I forget."

Murbul could stand it no more, and embraced the woman. She felt momentary resistance, a shudder, then Lily dissolved in tears such as she had not shed in months. She gripped the Orsimer fiercely and wailed her shame and torment to the heavens. Murbul joined her in weeping, as if the woman were her own child.

While Lily was tended by Murbul, Burguk addressed his men in the longhouse, his brother scowling at his side. "I do not know exactly the price paid, but it was costly. You will _all_ keep your distance from Lily. Do not approach her unannounced, do not touch her." Looking at Ghorbash with narrowed eyes, he said, "You will heed my words, brother?"

"Aye," he replied. "I will."

"Good," the chief said, satisfied. "On the matter of her being a Nord and a woman, it is my will that she is to remain untouched until _she_ desires it. I will not repeat this. Even one violation will be swiftly dealt with. I will defer to _her_ in the matter of what is and what is not a violation, not any of you." Again, he looked to his brother.

Ghorbash winced. He was a fool to confide in his brother his attraction to Lily, even more a fool to allow his passions to take command in front of the entire stronghold. None would forget her reaction to his embrace.

"Understood, _chieftain_ ," he snarled.

"Nagrub, you and Arob have the watch tonight. See to it."

The men filed out, leaving Burguk alone with Ghorbash. "She is changed," the chieftain said quietly.

"Aye," Ghorbash replied, rubbing his face roughly.

"Not for the better, to my mind."

"No."

"You still want her?"

"With all I am," Ghorbash insisted.

"If my guess is right," Burguk growled, "your suit will not be welcomed. No one's will."

"I am patient," his brother replied. "Malacath guided her steps back to me. He will soften her heart."

Burguk snorted in disbelief. "You have been too long away from Murbul's teachings. Malacath does not 'soften' anything."

"I swore an oath, brother," Ghorbash said.

"What exactly did you swear?"

"To be her sword, her shield, her teacher, her student... the wind on her face, the earth at her feet, the fire in her heart, the rain on her body."

The chieftain's eyebrows rose. "You saw her less than ten minutes before she left."

"It was enough."

Burguk took a deep breath and let it out slowly, smiling. "Such were the thoughts I had when I first laid eyes on Gharol. It is the fault of our father, you know. His eyes saw differently."

"True," Ghorbash agreed, chuckling. "So do we."

His brother sighed and shook his head. "Go gently, then. Watch over her. Mind your temper and your lust. Neither will win her."

"I am not blind, nor am I a whelp set loose upon the world for the first time, Burguk," Ghorbash growled. "I know what I must do."

"Then you are one step ahead of me," the chieftain said. "It has been too long since I last wooed. You face a steep climb. There is the matter of our race as well. Do not forget that, to most, there is no man uglier than an Orc."

"Yet she sought us," Ghorbash said.

"Not for that, she didn't," Burguk replied. "She came to us for refuge. Not a husband."

"Would you allow it?" his brother asked. "Or would you send us away?"

Burguk furrowed his brow in thought, considering. "She is not Orsimer, and you do not seek my place. And you are my brother." A half smile curved one side of his mouth. "Yes, if you manage to defy reason and win her heart, you may have her as wife, and you may stay. You have my word."

"The chieftain's word is law," Ghorbash said, bowing.


	9. The Children of Malacath

"You are troubled, husband," Gharol said softly. She lay on her side in his bed, her head resting on her hand. She had let her anger get the better of her, letting it stand too long between them. She let herself forget the warmth and comfort of being with him. Though they had kissed and embraced, a frown had stolen over his face, and now he lay staring at the ceiling in deep thought.

"Tell me," Burguk said. "What will... heal her?"

She sighed. "Time. Space. Understanding." A half smile curved her mouth, and she caressed his broad chest. "I am pleased that you worry for her."

He raised an eyebrow and looked at her. "Why so?"

"It tells me that you still hear the song of a woman's heart, even when it sings a lament. Lash did not think your ears still heard."

"My ears hear, and my eyes see, love," he replied. "Lily was wronged. I had not thought such a thing would happen to her when I sent her on my errand. It is my fault for being blind to all else."

"You are chieftain, and you must bear the weight of the stronghold upon your shoulders," Gharol said. "Do not add the world to them. If she could endure such torment, she will survive. Murbul said she slew an entire fortress of Forsworn in her vengeance. She is strong enough."

"Had she not, I would have led my men there and tended to it," he growled fiercely.

She reached over and soothed his brow with a gentle hand. "Your women would have come as well."

"Ghorbash feels love for her," he growled.

"I am not blind either," Gharol replied, chuckling. "Neither is anyone else. He could not have announced his desires better if he had stood upon the guard tower and proclaimed it at the top of his voice. Just like your father, you two are."

Burguk snorted. "There are times I miss the old man. I did not want to kill him."

"Tradition required it," his wife said. "He did not wish to die weak and trembling. The stronghold would have been endangered if he had."

"Aye," he acknowledged. "But still... he was a good man."

"As are you, and one day, one of your sons will defeat you."

He turned his head to look at her, a wry smile on his face. "Will you mourn me, Gharol?"

"With all my heart, dearest love."

* * *

The sleeping room of the longhouse was a familiar place from a dream long ago, and part of Lily felt safe there. But it was not segregated. Men slept among the women, and there were no doors. The only separation between rooms was a wall with a wide doorway. The chieftain's bedchamber was separate from all others, with the dining hall between them, but even _his_ room had no door; only an old, faded tapestry hung in the manner of a curtain. It did nothing to hide the sounds.

Lily listened intently all around her. The men snored quietly, contentedly, without concern. Nothing stirred in the sleeping room except the occasional restless sleeper turning for better comfort.

Some of them slept without clothes. Before, she would have turned away in shock upon seeing men stripping down to nothing so close at hand. She would have blushed, certainly. Now, she cringed, pressed herself into the wall by her bed, and trembled in terror of the inevitable assault.

Which never came. They paid no attention to her, barely acknowledged one another, even, and settled into their beds. Two of the women who worked the mines also took everything off before retiring, standing naked in a room full of men and shaking the dust from their garments. It shocked Lily even more that none paid the women any mind either. There were no leering grins, not even a glance.

The night wore on, and she remained wakeful, waiting. Ghorbash lay in a bed across the room, and seemed nearly as disturbed as she, for his pale eyes glittered in the dim moonlight streaming through the triangular windows. But he did not look at her; his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, his hands behind his head.

She looked away. He frightened her. She could almost smell the stench of lust on him. He would undoubtedly come after her at some point; it was just a question of when. She wondered where he would cut her. It was the way of men, to leave their marks behind to show others where they'd been.

The silence of the longhouse was broken by the sounds of Burguk and Gharol finally moving past the quiet susurrus of their conversation and into the inevitable. Lily's stomach lurched, hearing the woman's moans, the man's grunts. She covered her ears, but could still hear them. A whimper escaped her, and she tried to press herself through the wall.

Ghorbash sat up and stared at her with alarm. She was compressed in a tight ball, shaking so hard the bed rattled. Her face was a rictus of horror. He swung his feet onto the floor and rose.

His movement startled her, and she began shaking her head, wild eyes staring at him.

He kept his distance, and whispered, "It's all right, _ma'_ Lily. You are safe here."

She choked off a cry. "Do not call me that," she hissed.

He slowly approached, trying not to appear threatening though he must outweigh her by a hundred pounds at least, not to mention he was about a foot taller. Though he normally slept unclothed, he wore cloth trousers now that Lily had joined them. He would have to speak with his brother about the habits of the other men.

He was able to make it to the foot of her bed without inviting a scream, and seated himself on the edge.

"I worried about you, when you left," he said quietly so not to disturb anyone. "I should have followed. My heart told me to, but I ignored it. I did not wish to anger you." He bowed his head. "I failed you instead."

"I was distracted, and I paid for it," she replied in a shaky voice. "What do you want from me, Ghorbash?"

"I will take what you give, even if it is nothing," he replied. "I will give you whatever you desire."

"Will you give me death?"

He looked sharply at her. "No."

"Then I've no use for you," she said coldly.

"They are dead, _ma'_ Lily," he said. "Do not follow them, and do not let their ghosts haunt you."

She winced and looked away. "You do not know what was done, nor do I wish you to know."

"I will not ask, then," he said. He glanced toward the doorway leading into the dining hall, and his brother's bedchamber beyond. "They love each other. What they do is out of love. It is not ugly or cruel." He looked at her. "I hope you will come to see it as such."

"So that I will allow _you_ to fuck me?" she snarled. He started at her tone and choice of words. "Are there not cunts enough in this hold to satisfy you? Do you wish to cut your count into me as well?"

"Cut...? No!" he said, horrified. He glanced around, making sure no one had woken. Lowering his voice, he went on, "I do not wish you harm, _ma'_ Lily. I would never cut you for any reason."

She slowly settled back against the wall, yet kept a wary eye on him. "Go to your bed, Ghorbash. You are not welcome in mine."

He nodded and did as she asked.

* * *

Shel sneered in her bed, listening to the whispered words of that pig, Ghorbash, and the Nord. It was because of _her_ that Shel bedded down among the others instead of with the chieftain this night. Why had the bitch returned bearing the one thing that would smooth the Forge-Wife's feathers after Lash's furious departure, something Shel had carefully arranged? And now Burguk was showing renewed interest in that dried up old husk, Arob.

They looked on the Nord's whoring as a heroic thing. As if spreading her legs for a legion of Forsworn was a thing to be admired. Shel scoffed. _She_ knew a woman's ambitions better than any. If this slut was in the pocket of Arob or Gharol, seeking to undermine Shel's position, then she would have a battle on her hands.

Shel recognized the tenuousness of her own place, which she blamed on Burguk's failing seed. If she did not bear him a child soon, she might be discarded, sent back to her father's wretched stronghold in shame.

On the other hand, there were other ways of managing such things.

* * *

Come morning, the Orcs in the sleeping room began to stir and rise, dressing, stretching and yawning, preparing to greet the day. Lily watched them from her corner, having shoved the bed apart from the wall enough for her to wedge herself between them on the floor. Ghorbash saw her there, and a pained look crossed his face, but he did not approach her this time.

 _Good_ , she thought. _Stay away. You make me think and feel things I do not wish to._

She wrapped her arms tighter about her knees and scooted closer to the wall. After he returned to his bed last night, brief glimpses like lightning flashes in a stormy sky flitted through her mind. That she recalled him in her imprisonment, and sought comfort from those memories, came back to haunt her now.

 _Lies!_ her thoughts cried out.

"Child," Murbul said gently, and Lily started. She hadn't seen the woman approach. "Come, and take the morning meal with us. You may sit by me." She held out her hand to the Nord.

Taking the offered hand, Lily rose, and followed the elderly Orsimer woman out to the front room of the longhouse, where a long table had been laid with benches to either side. She sat where Murbul told her to sit, ate what was given to her, kept her eyes down, and said nothing.

"We have not seen a traveler in months," Nagrub was saying as he munched on a crust of bread. "I do not like being in the dark. We are close enough to Markarth that someone should go, and find out what is happening in the world."

"I could go," Ghorbash replied. "I have not seen it in awhile." Turning to Lily, who cringed under his gaze, he softened his voice as best he could. "You have friends there. I could give them a message, if you wish it."

She said nothing, only twitching her shoulders in a shrug.

"I feel a tension in the air," Burguk said. "I smell war on the wind."

As if something suddenly clicked into place, Lily looked up. "There is war coming."

All heads turned to her. "What news have you heard?" the chieftain asked.

"Stormcloaks from Eastmarch Hold lead a rebellion against the Empire," she said hollowly. "Dragons have returned."

"Dragons?" Burguk roared, leaping to his feet. The Orcs erupted in shocked cries as well. "Where were they seen?"

"Whiterun Hold," she replied. "I overheard the Forsworn speak of it in one of their camps. A messenger came from... the fortress." A shadow passed over her face. Burguk slowly sat down. "He had other news. A man was revealed as Dragonborn. An Orsimer."

This news was greeted with awed silence. Murbul cleared her throat. "It is said by the Nords that the dragons are the harbingers of the End Times. Only the Dragonborn is powerful enough to do battle with a dragon."

"And he is Orsimer," Nagrub said with fierce pride.

"Then I will go to Markarth. If such a thing is known by the Forsworn dogs, then the Jarl will know of it as well, or he is a fool." Ghorbash pushed his half-eaten meal away. "With your permission, Chief, I will go at once."

Burguk nodded, still too shocked to speak. An Orsimer, bearing the saving of the world upon his shoulders. Somehow, the small intrigues of his tiny stronghold held less weight.

" _ma_ 'Lily," Ghorbash said. "What would you have me tell Ghorza?"

Her eyes flicked to his for the briefest of moments. "Say that... I lost the things she gave me."

* * *

"I am told you have worked the forge," Gharol said as she walked with Lily to her smithy up the hill by the mine. "Did Ghorza teach you?"

"Yes," the Nord replied. She felt strange with this woman, whose cries she heard during the night.

"Then you must know how Orcs run a smithy," the Orsimer smiled. "Though I imagine a city forge is a bit different from this."

It was indeed. The circular, peak-roofed hut stood to the right of the path leading up to the mine. The forge pit and anvil were outside, while the smith's grinding stone and workbench were inside the hut. Up against the mountainside stood a domed smelter. There was no waterwheel turning constantly with the current of a river, keeping the fires hot, as there was in Markarth.

A man sat at the grindstone pumping the peddle, and sharpening a blade on the spinning wheel.

"My son, Umurn," she said. Like Gharol, he had yellow eyes. He seemed to be in agreement with his brother, Nagrub's preference for a small tail at the top of his head, though not nearly as diligent in shaving the remainder. A short bristling of hair on his head showed he hadn't tended it in several days at least.

Lily nodded to him, but said nothing, and did not look him in the eyes longer than a moment. Umurn simply waved to her and continued his work.

"You will be welcome to assist here," Gharol said kindly. "Or when Arob goes out hunting, you could accompany her. You are not obligated in either direction, but may choose your own path. You are only required to do your share here."

"Does my share include being put to use by the men?"

Gharol blinked in surprise. "No, Lily. You owe nothing of the sort. _None_ are... used in that manner."

Lily turned her cold, lifeless eyes to the Orsimer woman. "Burguk used you last night. I heard."

She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then took Lily gently by the elbow, steering her away from the hut. By the forge pit were several large rocks, and she bade Lily sit on one. She sat beside the Nord on another.

"When you left us to seek the gauntlets, did you believe such things?" Seeing Lily's brow furrow in confusion, she tried again. "Did you think that a woman's only use to a man is for his pleasure?"

She tried hard to remember what she thought, seemingly so long ago. "I believed... a boy's touch was... gentle. That nothing was as wondrous as a kiss. Men taught me otherwise."

For a moment, Gharol saw a hint of what Burguk told her Lily seemed when she left. But then it was gone. She patted the woman's knee.

"You were taught a falsehood," the Orsimer said firmly. "Your heart knew, and it still knows. Listen to it."

"My heart is dead," Lily replied. "It no longer speaks."

"Your heart weeps," Gharol said. "We all hear it. Ghorbash especially."

"He wishes to fuck me," the Nord woman said bluntly, her voice as dead as she claimed her heart to be. "I shall have no say in the matter."

"That is not so," Gharol snapped, struggling to keep anger from her voice. "I have watched him grow from a suckling babe to the man you saw leave this morning. If you tell him you do not want his attentions, he will listen. It would shame him to hear you say such a thing of him."

"Men do not feel shame," Lily growled.

"They do," the Orsimer said, standing up. "That is another falsehood taught to you by beasts who do not deserve to be called men. I do not expect you to forget in an hour what was done to you for months, but I want you to _try_. Open your eyes and see what _is_. Do not close them and only see what _was_."

"I will try," Lily said, her face contorting with grief. "But I fear..."

"I understand," Gharol said kindly, pulling Lily to her feet. "You should know that Burguk understands as well. He has spoken to them; you need not fear the men here." Glancing over, she noticed Shel storming up the walkway, and grimaced. _What did that wretched woman want now?_ "But perhaps you should be wary of the women."


	10. Planting a Seed

Gharol breathed a sigh of relief that Shel only cast a malevolent glare in her direction, not even slowing for a polite, or more likely impolite, word of greeting as she blew up the next ramp and entered the mine. Shaking her head, she put a companionable arm about Lily's shoulders.

"Come," she said, "you will help me forge a blade for Lash as my husband said."

"What must I do?" she asked.

"Stoke the fires," Gharol replied cheerily. "There is wood in plenty behind the longhouse. Umurn, show her, and help bring back enough wood to set the flames high."

Umurn rose stiffly from the grinder and obediently approached. Lily recoiled slightly, and took a step back, hugging herself and keeping her eyes down. The Orsimer looked to his mother for help.

"Lily," she said gently, "go. All will be well."

Nodding, she fell into step behind Umurn and followed him back down the hill. Glancing behind, he slowed his steps, allowing her to walk at his side.

"You will come to like it here," he said gruffly. "We close our gates to outsiders, true, but inside... we are family." She only nodded, though he wasn't sure she was truly listening. "I think... you will be as a sister to me, for Lash has gone," he tried again. "If you are frightened or require aid, and Ghorbash is not near, ask me."

Lily stopped in her tracks. "Why does it matter where he is?" He halted a few paces beyond, and turned. Her gaze was still fixed on the ground.

Arching an eyebrow, Umurn replied, "His heart sings for you." The Orsimer shrugged. "We have all heard it, and no one will challenge him."

"Challenge?" she asked, finally looking up at him with a bewildered expression.

A smile curved his lips around his tusks. "He has claimed the right of the hunt, and begins the chase."

Trembling, Lily's eyes widened in terror. "He stalks me? Am I prey?"

"No, no, no," Umurn said quickly, seeing his mistake. "It is... words only. Perhaps the wrong ones," he acknowledged in frustration. Sighing, he said, "He cares for you, and wishes to encourage your affections in return. We call it a hunt, the men here." He chuckled. "Sometimes the quarry eludes us, and sometimes the hunter becomes the hunted. You see?"

She shook her head. She _looked_ hunted, that was certain, Umurn thought, but not by a lover. He didn't feel comfortable explaining things any further. Though the words were not said out loud, and no descriptions were provided, not one single person in the stronghold did not know what happened to this woman. If he hadn't pushed it down and out of sight, he would rage for days over what was done. He had a sister of his own; had it been done to _her_...

He, for one, would never believe the Blood Price had been sufficiently paid, regardless that her enemies had all been slain.

"Ask my mother," he said awkwardly, resuming their trek to the woodpile. "She would be better at explaining such things."

* * *

Shel banged open the door to the mine, furious with Burguk. This was the final insult, sending her to 'fetch' the previous day's accounting from the mine as if she were a servant. The first person she ran into was one of the women miners.

"Dulug, I need the sheets from yesterday," Shel snapped. "You people were neglectful, and did not bring them last night."

The Orsimer woman straightened, then leaned on her pickaxe. "There was distraction in the Nord girl's arrival. The gauntlets. Need I remind you?" Looking the despicable third wife up and down with disdain, Dulug said, "Nothing was prepared. You'll have to find Oglub."

Fuming at the woman's cheek, Shel whirled and stomped further into the mine. _Oglub_. _Not even his right name_ , she grumbled to herself. Then her steps slowed.

No, it wasn't his true name. And only Shel knew the reason why. A tiny smile began to flit into being upon her face as she aimed her steps toward the sound of picks striking stone. Perhaps it was time such information was put to good use.

Oglub was already hard at work, breaking up some surface stone to get at the Orichalcum vein beneath. Shel walked up to him and touched his shoulder, halting him.

"I require the figures from yesterday," she said evenly.

The Orc rolled his eyes; obviously, tallying the day's harvest was not a chore he liked. He reluctantly dropped his pick and headed for the small office cut into the mountain.

"I might have known it would be _you_ who was late turning in the tally," Shel commented to his back as he rummaged for a quill.

"Couldn't be helped," he growled absently. Now he had a quill; where were the damn ink pots?

"I suppose not," Shel agreed, idly pushing a sheet of parchment back and forth on the table. "Interesting that she would come to _this_ stronghold, is it not?"

"Aren't many around, 'specially this close to the capitol," Oglub remarked.

"No, there aren't," she said, watching him carefully. "It is quite an honor, that our stronghold was recommended above all others."

"Recommended?" the Orc asked, glancing over his shoulder. Found the ink pot, got the quill. Grimacing, he snatched the blank parchment from under her hand.

"Did you not know?" Shel asked innocently. "An Orsimer smith in Markarth sent her here. Woman with the name of Bagol."

A smile threatened to cross her face when she saw his bare shoulders stiffen. She clenched her jaw to hold it in.

"Bagol?" he asked, his voice deathly calm. He did not turn around.

"Yes," Shel replied. "Named for her stronghold, so I hear. In fond remembrance." She could just hear his hard swallow. "Such a sad tale, the destruction of Bagol. I might have forgotten, had Murbul not mentioned it in passing. You knew my father was the first to learn of it, did you not?"

Oglub shook his head slowly. "No," he replied. "I did not."

"There was _such_ a mess to clean up," she continued mercilessly, though she kept her voice sadly reflective. "He was in the Legion at the time, you know. Oh, he did not take part in the slaughter. The Empire is occasionally sensitive to such things. But he found the chieftain's body afterwards."

The Orc was trembling, Shel noted with satisfaction. If she'd had any doubts, they were smothered by his reactions. "He believes the chieftain was murdered before the Imperials ever entered the stronghold. I can imagine how the shock of such a thing would throw everything into chaos. Likely what made the Legion's attack so... successful."

"This is all very interesting," Oglub snarled, bending to begin copying the figures from the master ledger onto the parchment. "I assume you have a point to it."

"I _always_ have a point," Shel said coldly. "If you wish me to make it, then I shall. You talk in your sleep, Oglub, if that is even your name."

He slammed the quill on the table and whirled around, glaring hard at her. "What are you saying, woman?" he hissed.

Unperturbed, she met his gaze. "Such painful dreams you have, after all these years. Was he shocked when he saw whose hand held the blade?" she whispered.

Oglub's breath caught in his throat, his red eyes widened, and his hands clenched into fists. "Mind your tongue. You have _no_ proof."

"You think I require it, kinslayer?" she countered. "And before you think to silence me, consider this: if you slay the chieftain's wife, there is no place you can run that his people will not find you."

"So you will go to him, then?" Oglub asked, his voice quavering as he barely suppressed the rising panic and fear. "You will tell him this pack of lies?"

A smile crept across her face. "Perhaps. Or perhaps not. That depends on you."

His face went slack. He'd forgotten. With Shel, as with _any_ Orc of Mor Khazgur, there was a price.

"What do you want?"

"I believe we may both benefit from this... situation," she said mildly. "My position here is on shaky ground. Were I to bear Chief Burguk a child, things would improve for me. But alas, the chieftain is not so young as he once was. His seed is tired, and does not seem as... vigorous as in his youth."

Oglub winced and bowed his head.

"You, however, are young and presumably... able. The price for my silence is the use of your cock," she declared. "Obviously, you will provide such services until it is proved that I am with child. Then I shall be satisfied."

Sneering at her, he growled, "And how, exactly, do _I_ benefit from this arrangement?"

She arched her eyebrows, somewhat surprised at his ignorance. "Why, you will live another day, Oglub. And another, and another, unless you displease or offend me, and then... well, let us assume you are not stupid."

He felt the cage door slam. There was no way out of this that would not end in his immediate death. Even if Burguk believed his claim of Shel's offer, there was the matter of his betrayal that would require answering, and she would certainly not hesitate to repeat her story if he so much as whispered a word of this to anyone. He could not possibly pay the Blood Price for more than a dozen murders, many who were kin, several too young to lift a sword. His shoulders sagged in defeat.

"Very well," he snapped. "I am... at your service."

"Good," she said, and immediately turned her back on him. He hoped she would just leave him be, but once the bargain was struck, Shel demanded the first payment. She parted her legs and leaned forward over the table. "Be swift, and silent." She pulled her skirt up to reveal her naked buttocks.

Oglub's jaw fell open. She wanted it _now_?

She glared at him over her shoulder. "Make haste, Oglub. You needn't give me pleasure, if that is your concern." Sneering as she returned her gaze forward, she said with amusement, "It is doubtful you could."

"You are a bitch and a whore, Shel," he snarled, yanking the laces of his breeches untied. Lip curled in disgust, he took her roughly and did what he had to do to survive.

* * *

Gharol barely acknowledged Shel's departure from the mine, for she was too involved in giving instruction. Without a waterwheel to operate the bellows, a watchful eye and a strong back were required to keep the coals hot.

"That's it, Lily, good," she said, shoving the bar of Orichalcum into the hottest part of the forge. She watched with satisfaction as the metal began to redden, then turn white.

Sweat poured down the Nord's pale face as she operated the handle of the great bellows, but she seemed pleased. Gharol had always found the forge to be a place of comfort, where worries could be beaten away for a time as the mind bent itself toward creation. It was clear Lily felt the same.

"Have you ever worked with this kind of ore?" the Orsimer asked as she took the heated bar to the anvil and began striking it with the hammer.

"I have not," she replied, keeping the bellows moving, yet at a slower pace. "It is rather green, isn't it?"

"Somewhat like our skin," Gharol laughed. "It is said Malacath made the ore in our likeness as a blessing to his children, and so we craft all our weapons and armor with it. It is tough and strong, yet ugly in the eyes of those who favor steel. Very like the Orsimer."

Lily slowed the bellows, a frown on her face. "The Orsimer are not so ugly as I once thought." Gharol ceased her hammering and looked at her. "I have seen ugliness, but never in the heart of an Orc." Looking away, the Nord applied more vigor to the forge's heat.

"While I am pleased by this, it is only fair to say that we have our share of ugly folk, if nature is the measure of it," Gharol said. "There are many who leave the strongholds to look for fortune and glory beyond the walls. Many who seek wealth they have no right to claim." Turning to Lily, she said seriously, "If you ever feel strong enough to venture out of Dushnikh Yal, even for a short time, do not go alone."

The Nord shuddered, and nodded. "I have learned my lesson in that."

"It was a harsh lesson," Gharol acknowledged. "One that should not have been taught with such... methods."

"Gharol," Lily said timidly, abandoning the bellows completely, "Umurn said..." She paused, glancing toward the smelter where the apprentice smith was engrossed in pouring liquid Orichalcum into ingot molds. "He said that Ghorbash... hunts me, but I should not fear."

The Orsimer barely suppressed a laugh, and covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes crinkled with mirth. "Those boys and their fancies. They are cut from the same cloth, and nearly the same age, those two."

"How can they be... but I thought he was the chieftain's brother?" Lily asked in confusion.

Sighing, Gharol explained, "The old chieftain, Burguk and Ghorbash's father, took a young wife – Ghorbash's mother – not long before he reached the end of his rule. She was like Shel, only much kinder, and certainly bearing greater affection for her husband. It was an arranged marriage to seal an agreement with another stronghold. He was slain by Burguk's hand in fair combat." Her mind briefly drifted back to that day, remembering a valiant battle, a triumphant new chieftain, and a night of blissful union long desired.

"He killed his own father?" Lily asked incredulously. Though she dimly recalled Nagrub's declaration of claiming the role of chieftain in a similar manner, it was still shocking to hear.

"Yes, I'm afraid it is our way," Gharol replied. "He did not wish to kill his father, mind you. He still mourns the loss, as does Murbul. But it is tradition. In any case, this young wife was heavy with child when the chieftain breathed his last, and so stricken with grief was she that she went into labor on the spot. Murbul did what she could bringing Ghorbash into the world, but at great cost; he came feet first, and his mother bled to death without ever laying eyes upon him."

"That is awful," Lily said, and Gharol was pleased to see pain in the woman's eyes for someone else's suffering. _Your heart is not so dead as you believe_ , she thought.

"I was wed to Burguk soon after he took leadership of the stronghold. Not long after that, Umurn was born. We raised Ghorbash and Umurn together. They have been as close as brothers all their lives."

"And this... hunt...," Lily prompted nervously.

"Of course, when they were younger, they talked of little else but girls, and how to win their affections," Gharol laughed. "Each believed he would be chieftain one day, and would need to woo a woman's heart. They imagined it would be similar to a hunt, and so always referred to it in those terms." Placing a hand on the woman's shoulder, Gharol said gently, "You know this game well, Lily. You know how your quarry evades you. If Ghorbash pursues you as the hunter, you needn't make it easy on him. Lead him a merry chase, if it pleases you."

Lily's eyes closed, and a shiver passed through her for a moment. Swallowing, she looked at Gharol again. "Am I... required... to take part in this hunt?"

"No," the Orsimer replied sadly. "Know this, though: Ghorbash is a man of his word. He has sworn himself to your protection, as well as to your healing. He wishes to _win_ your heart, not take it by force." She offered a wan smile. "It would please us all to see you whole, and we would also rejoice if you accepted him, but it is not required."

Drawing a deep breath, Gharol said, "But that is talk for another time. Give me a hotter flame, my girl. I have let the metal grow too cold with my chattering."

* * *

As the sun fell below the horizon, Ghorbash entered Markarth with the last group of travelers before the gates closed. He had run the entire way, anxious to learn what he could of the Dragonborn and this coming war, but more than that, he wished to see Ghorza. He grew up a witness to the friendship between his brother's first two wives, and hoped that he could convince the Orsimer woman to return with him. Perhaps the comfort of a friend could help heal Lily.

His recollections of the City of Stone were still reliable, and he managed to find the smithy by the Cidhna Mine with little trouble. As he approached, an Orc woman was closing up shop and preparing to leave.

"Ghorza gra-Bagol?" he asked as he walked up to her.

"I am she," she replied, turning. Then she started, looking at him as if she were seeing a specter of the past. "Burguk?"

He laughed. "No, Ghorza, I am his brother, Ghorbash. We did not share a mother, but we have the same eyes."

"Indeed," she said, shaking her head in wonder. "What brings you to Markarth, Ghorbash?"

"Several things, one a message for you," he said. "Lily wishes..."

"Hush!" Ghorza hissed, looking around with alarm. Moving close to the startled Orc, she whispered, "Do not say her name. Come to my home in the tradesman's tier. Number eight, west side. We will talk there." She then whirled about and departed swiftly.

Ghorbash couldn't move or speak for several moments, then he mentally kicked himself. He'd forgotten why she fled the city in the first place. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he headed for the stairs leading to the upper tiers.


	11. Learning Things

The guards of Markarth only gave Ghorbash a cursory glance as he made his way up to the tradesman's lodgings. Ghorza's reaction to mention of Lily's name made him wary, as he should have been when he first entered the city. Scowling, he counted the doors until he came to number eight, then knocked.

He was startled to see a male Orc open the door. Glancing past the warrior's shoulders out onto the walkway, the man stepped back and motioned Ghorbash to enter quickly. Then he shut the door securely.

"What is going on?" Ghorbash barked. "And who are you?"

"I am Moth gro-Bagol," the Orsimer said gruffly. They grasped wrists in greeting. "You need not say your name. My sister told me Ghorbash the Iron Hand had come."

He rolled his eyes and shifted uncomfortably. "I am 'the Iron Hand' no longer," he growled. "Left the Legion far behind, and good riddance to it."

"Come inside," Moth nodded, leading the way to the dining table. "You may stay the night, if you wish."

"You do not know me," Ghorbash pointed out uneasily.

Moth snorted dismissively. "You come with a message from Lily. You are a friend."

Shrugging, Ghorbash dropped his pack where Moth indicated, and unbuckled his sword belt and quiver. He laid all his weapons on the pack, then rubbed his shoulder where the pack's strap had worn hardest, and sat on the bench.

"You carry a heavy burden," Moth commented.

"I carry ingots for trade," Ghorbash replied. "My brother did not want the trip wasted."

They sat in silence for a few moments before Ghorbash finally asked what burned in his mind.

"Where is Ghorza? I thought she meant to meet me here," he said impatiently.

Moth chuckled. "And so she is here, but bathes in her chambers. Her witless apprentice covered her in the oil for polishing blades. She all but slid into the house."

"Perhaps you may help me, then," Ghorbash said, trying not to laugh too much at the image. "We heard rumors of war, and dragons. Does the city prepare for either of these things?"

Sobering quickly, Moth's brow furrowed. "I am the Jarl's blacksmith, and work in the Keep itself. I have heard these things as well. The Thalmor are more agitated than they have ever been." He fought to conceal a smile of satisfaction at their plight. "The Jarl is a foolish man, and does not look to our defenses as he should. He believes it is Whiterun Hold's problem, though we are getting reports of dragon attacks as close as Rorikstead."

"Still in Whiterun..."

"Aye, but uncomfortably close, you must agree. The Jarl in Eastmarch, Ulfric Stormcloak, seeks to rid us of imperial rule once and for all, and so there is war brewing. Some here support him, of course. Those who suffered most under Forsworn occupation. But they are the landowners, mostly, not the common folk who were largely ignored."

"I remember," Ghorbash said, nodding. "But I do not believe Forsworn rule is in the best interests of the Reach, either. Better the Stormcloaks than the Madmen, eh?"

"True," Moth chuckled. "But even _they_ are a damn sight better than the Thalmor filth."

"I do not know," the warrior growled. "There are worse things than the Thalmor." Not wanting to go into it just now, Ghorbash asked, "Have you also heard of this... Dragonborn... who was discovered?"

"Aye," Moth replied, eyebrows raising and a grin reappearing on his face. "Met him, as well. He had an errand here, and spoke with the Jarl."

"Is he... Orsimer? As we had heard?" Ghorbash asked hopefully.

"That he is. He is called Ashtulagal, and comes from Hammerfell, in the Dragontail Mountain range. Some village up there," he replied. "They do not share _all_ our ways, but they are Orsimer all the same."

"That is what I have heard as well, of the mountain Orcs," Ghorbash agreed. "Is he a good man?"

"I believe so," Moth replied thoughtfully. "Strange man, but good. Travels with a Nord woman." An uncertain smile flitted across the Orc's face. "She looked at him as though... " Then he shook his head. "Must have been the heat of the forge."

"What do you mean?" Ghorbash asked, intrigued.

Moth sighed. "Were he a Nord man, I would say... well... there is something between them."

"Something... good?"

The smith shrugged. "Depends on who is looking, eh?"

The former warrior wasn't sure how to interpret Moth's cryptic comments, but was unable to pursue them any further, for Ghorza appeared at that moment.

"Ghorbash," she said, clasping his wrist as her brother had done. "Tell me of Lily. Did she make it to Dushnikh Yal safely? Is she well?"

The Orsimer opened his mouth to relay Lily's simple message, then closed it abruptly. While the woman was safe enough, he couldn't honestly say she was 'well.' Taking a deep breath, he tried again.

"She is Blood-Kin now, and lives among us in safety," he said awkwardly. "She bade me tell you she has lost the things you gave her."

Ghorza tilted her head and frowned. "Lost them? The armor and weapons? These are the only things I can think of. What became of them?"

The Orc looked away, his jaw and fists clenching. He could not sit still with such anger rolling through him, and stood up to pace the room. "My brother set her a task. In attempting to accomplish it, she was taken captive by Forsworn beasts and held for months. They stole _everything_ she had, and much of what she _was."_

Covering her mouth with her hand, Ghorza's eyes widened and stared in horror at Ghorbash. His expression told her the words he refused to speak. Moth, however, did not come to the same conclusion.

"How is it she escaped?" he asked curiously. "I have heard they do not fear death, so any threats she may have made..."

"I do not know details," Ghorbash snarled. "She does not speak of what happened there. She only said a few words to the wise woman, enough to inform us that she poisoned the lot of them." He spat on the floor with disgust. He would have happily split them open from neck to groin, even the women, for what was done. Poison was not good enough, to his mind.

Moth grunted with amusement. "Good. No clean, valiant, warrior's death. As much as those miscreants deserve. Why she does not boast of this, I do not understand."

"She does not _boast_ , you imbecile, because... Malacath, strengthen her," Ghorza breathed, slumping on the bench.

"What?"

"She was _raped_ , Moth!" Ghorbash roared. "By every last man of the fortress, for _months_! Must I spell it out for you?" He quivered with rage for several moments as his own words, never spoken, yet always known, sank in thoroughly, making Lily's nightmarish suffering terribly real to him for the first time.

Moth blanched and slammed his mouth shut on any further comments. Ghorbash slowly sat down again, and stared into the cold hearth.

"I did not know her well, when she accepted the task and left us," he said hollowly. "She came back... different. So very different. She does not even speak as she once did. There was... foolish confidence in her. A desire to prove herself. Now, she cringes at shadows. She looks on... _me_... with distrust and fear."

Ghorza was rubbing her eyes when she caught the change in the Orc's tone, and now looked at him carefully. "Has she cause to fear you?" she asked stiffly, a hint of accusation in her voice.

"I have done _nothing_ ," Ghorbash snapped, then amended, "much. When she came back, I was... pleased to see her, and... embraced her. She did not take it well."

"Why would you do that, Ghorbash?" Ghorza asked softly.

Glaring defiantly at the two Orcs, Ghorbash snarled, "Because when I first saw her, she claimed my heart, and I have not wrested it free of her, nor do I wish to."

Ghorza exchanged alarmed looks with her brother. Moth cleared his throat.

"You are aware, I'm sure...," Moth began, but the warrior cut him off.

"I am _aware_ of many things you do not need to point out," he snapped. "She is a Nord, and I am an Orc. She has been... wounded, terribly, in body and soul. If I am to heal her, I must... ignore the song of my heart for a time."

"Until it becomes a cacophony," Moth observed wryly. "They say no _mer_ is as passionate as an Orsimer."

Ghorbash grunted with amusement. "Truly, no one bests an Orc, not in matters of war _or_ love."

"You two are like old soldiers, long since gone to pasture," Ghorza snorted. "Though, I suppose, in this case, it is very like the campaigns we used to fight, eh?" She exchanged an understanding look with Ghorbash. Though they hadn't fought in the same unit, they had all three done their time in the Legion.

"I suppose it is only fitting that I mention now," Moth said with a grin, "that the Dragonborn's travel companion is clearly _also_ his lover. She was not the only one looking with a hungry eye."

"You have no proof," Ghorza protested without conviction. "Such things are... well, they just _are not_."

"Tell me you did not see it in her eyes as clearly as I did," Moth challenged his sister. "She, at least, saw no shame in it."

"Perhaps not," she conceded, shrugging. Glancing at Ghorbash, she said pointedly, "For your sake, I hope Lily doesn't either."

"It is cruel to think it, worse to say it," Moth sighed, "but truly, after what has happened... she will likely see far less shame in the embrace of an Orc than that of a human."

Ghorza shot her brother a hateful look. "You do not believe she is in any way to blame, do you?"

Rolling his eyes uncomfortably, Moth replied, "No, I do not, and you _know_ I do not. I merely meant..."

"I know what you meant," she said.

"Ghorza," Ghorbash said seriously, "I would ask you... as a friend to Lily... if you would come to Dushnikh Yal. If only for a short time."

"It would be an honor, and a pleasure," she replied with a smile, "but not possible at the moment. Perhaps in a week or so, when I am certain of my apprentice's ability to mind the forge without setting fire to the lower tier..."

"Then you will be forever in Markarth," Moth chuckled. "Leave your custom to me, I'll mind things. Jarl Igmund does not believe a dragon would _dare_ attack the city, and he is so deep in the pocket of the Thalmor, he does not fear the Empire, either. So he is doing nothing, as usual. I shall welcome the work."

"Very well," she agreed. "In the morning, I will tell the man to report to you, and may Malacath guard your hide."

* * *

Lily nearly cleaved to Gharol's side the remainder of the day, until all fires were banked, and the workers filed down the hill to the longhouse for supper. She made herself small at one end of the table, and did not look at anyone for long.

"Salmon!" Arob crowed cheerfully, laying the steaming platters on the table before the hungry Orcs. "They were running high in the water today, almost leaping into my arms."

Burguk chuckled. "It is a welcoming place," he commented, slapping her rear as she passed. Several around the table laughed heartily as they served themselves. The chieftain felt strangely at ease, as though a burden had been lifted. He hadn't realized how oppressive Shel could be when she had access to his bed. It didn't make him feel particularly good about himself that he allowed such temptations to distract him from the women he truly loved. _No matter_ , he thought, _such things are easily mended._

Glancing to his left, he noted that Shel sat silently, delicately eating her meal without passing a hateful look to Gharol or Arob. Relieved, Burguk dived into his own salmon with a will.

"Teach me this, mother," Nagrub said appreciatively as he savored a mouthful. "Such a meal would win me many hearts."

"Do not speak with your mouth full," she admonished, sitting abruptly in the space next to Lily. The poor girl started and spared a quick glance at the Hunts-Wife, but said nothing.

"It would take more than a steady hand on a cooking pot to bring down such quarry," Umurn chided good-naturedly. "Better sharpen your aim in other ways."

"Mind yourselves, both of you," the miner, Oglub cut in unexpectedly. "Wouldn't want _too_ many wives. Cause you no end of trouble."

Shel's head jerked up, and she fixed the Orc with a malicious glare. Burguk reached over and patted her hand to sooth her. "Such words are not wanted, Oglub, not even in jest," he said, a warning in his voice.

"Forgive me, my chieftain," Oglub replied sullenly.

"How kind that his insult made you think of _me_ ," Shel snarled. Slamming her fork on the table, she shot off the bench and stormed out of the longhouse.

 _So much for mending things easily_ , Burguk thought wearily.

"Go after the little baggage," Arob said with only mild interest. "Our talk will keep."

Burguk slowly rose, his meal half-finished, his stomach and his mood gone sour. "I would not have it so. I made you a promise."

"Eh, you rule another day," she replied, waving her hand. "I'll bring you to heel tomorrow night."

"I look forward to it," he grinned in spite of himself, then followed in his third wife's angry footsteps out the door.

Certain that his father was gone, Nagrub snarled, "Manipulative bitch."

"Hold your tongue," Arob said easily. "It is not _I_ who suffers."

"She digs her own pit of filth," Umurn pointed out. "Let her wallow in it."

Gharol banged her tankard, sloshing ale on the table. "You will not say such things, Umurn," she snapped. "Nor you, Nagrub. I am surprised at you as well, Arob. She is a chieftain's wife, and is owed respect."

" _I_ owe her nothing," Nagrub growled, "because she has _earned_ nothing."

"Come now, Gharol," Arob said. "If you had seen the look on her face when Burguk chose _you_ for his bed last night..." She shook her head and chuckled. "If a glance alone could kill..."

"I did see, and it does not bother me," the Orsimer woman said stiffly. "She is too young. Understanding will come in time."

"She is the daughter of a chieftain," Murbul pointed out, and all attention was upon the elderly woman. "A chieftain who has taken more wives than my son. If she does not understand, then she is blind."

"Hmph," Nagrub scoffed. "A chieftain who has only taken wives in payment for trade agreements."

"You do not know that," Gharol hissed.

"Lash does," Umurn snapped, glaring at his mother.

Sighing and looking away, Gharol could only nod.

"Can either of you say it will be different when _you_ become chieftain?" Murbul said. "How many opportunities will you have to seek a wife to strengthen Dushnikh Yal, while defending it against beasts like the Forsworn? And what of this news of war? You will likely be on the walls, killing Imperials and Stormcloaks alike." She snorted. "Mind the here and now, and the war to come, and do not trouble yourselves over wooing a wife, or we shall share the fate of Bagol."

Nagrub reached over and pounded Oglub's back as he choked on a fish bone. "Ever wise, you are, Murbul."

As the conversation moved on to matters of defense against the coming threats, Arob turned to Lily huddled beside her.

"You have hardly eaten a bite," she said softly. "Is it not to your liking?"

"No, it is wonderful," Lily said quickly. "I am just... not very hungry."

"Does our talk disturb you?" Arob asked. Chuckling to herself, she added, "We are not often mindful of who may be listening."

"It is no matter," the Nord whispered.

"Hmmm, Burguk did not set the watch," the Hunts-Wife said thoughtfully, holding a crust of bread up ready for a bite. "I am not as young as I was, or I'd take it for a second night."

"I can do it," Lily offered. "I will not sleep in any case."

Arob fixed her with a piercing look. "That is what I heard. That you did not close your eyes all night. Then today you worked at the forge with Gharol. No, you will sleep tonight. It is an easy thing to say, that you are safe here, and I know you do not see it yet. But... you _are_ safe."

Lily leaned close and whispered, "The men... they sleep unclothed, some of them."

" _Most_ of them, if truth be told," Arob snickered. "I heard Ghorbash wore breeches for the first time in years last night. He urged Burguk to require the men to do likewise, at least until you feel more comfortable."

"What did he say?" she asked hopefully.

"Laughed, mostly." Seeing the look of dismay on the woman's pale face, Arob put an arm around her shoulders. "Listen. You live among us now. We are what living in close quarters for generations has made us. Few in this hold are not family. The rest... they come to the strongholds in search of kinship and acceptance. It is a harsh place, Skyrim, if you are not a Nord. Perhaps you see us as primitives, or savages, because we are not particularly modest, and there is little that we do not openly discuss, or _do_ for that matter. I am certain Shel lies with our husband this moment, under the stars. She has certainly urged him to such public displays on several occasions."

"You are not... jealous?"

"Not at all," Arob replied. "I know he loves me, and he knows I love him."

Lily's brow furrowed. "The Forsworn wives despised me," she said. "They said I seduced their husbands from their beds. They spat on me."

Arob's throat constricted and she barely suppressed a shudder. The way this woman spoke of such hideous torments... as if it were the norm, and she was trying to reconcile what was happening _now_ with what she had been so brutally taught.

Gathering herself, Arob forced her voice to calmness. "I would say that... these 'husbands,' as you call them, were less than men in every way, if they embraced a wife while committing such vile deeds upon you. And these 'wives' were less than women, to believe you invited such treatment."


	12. Pillow Talk

Though Burguk protested, he did so weakly, with little conviction. The Nord looked close to collapse.

"Fine," he relented, glaring at the top of her head. It seemed the only feature she was likely to show when she spoke to him, and he was uncomfortable insisting on more. "See to the side gate, then. Ghak, you're on the front." As the women filed out, he stopped the miner with a hand on her arm. "Keep an eye on her. She has not slept in days." Ghak nodded and went out.

Turning to the others, he thought for a moment, then pointed at Oglub. "You're on patrol inside. It would please me if you also watched over Lily on your rounds. Make sure she doesn't fall asleep, but _do not_ approach her unless there is a need."

"May I share the night's watch with Mahk?" the Orc asked, an ill look on his face. "I have partaken of something particularly foul, and I need to purge my system of the poison."

His back turned, Burguk didn't see the furious glare Shel directed at the miner. Arob had ducked her head to chuckle and also did not see the third wife's expression.

"You have always appreciated my cooking before," she laughed.

"It wasn't dinner," the man replied sourly.

Grunting with annoyance, the chieftain nodded. "See Murbul about your ailment. Mahk, take watch until Oglub is recovered. Mind you, do not forget your duty," he said pointedly to Oglub. He dismissed the men with a wave of his hand.

As the others filed into the sleeping room, Burguk turned to his own chamber, the tapestry still swaying from Shel's passage. He had no desire for the woman, he realized. Not anymore. It had taken a reunion with his first wife, his beloved Gharol, to make him realize he'd been acting a fool. There were many things more satisfying than the vigorous and often degrading play favored by Shel, and while it had entertained him for its novelty, such things grew stale over time. Now, she was undoubtedly awaiting him with her bindings and scourges. Part of him was grateful that Lily had insisted on being outside of the longhouse this night. He shuddered to think of her hearing...

"You are troubled."

Starting, he turned and faced Arob. Like so many of them, she slept unclothed, and was completely at her ease in the dining area in such a state. Sighing, Burguk allowed her to embrace him, and touched his forehead to hers. His hands found their favorite home on her hips.

"She awaits me," he growled.

"She is no executioner, just a woman," Arob murmured.

Snorting a laugh, he pulled his Hunts-Wife closer, stroking her bare back. "Would you despise me if I... if I told you I did not love her?"

"Not at all," she whispered in his ear, nipping the lobe playfully. "I would despise you if you said you _did_ , for I would know it was a lie."

He shivered, and squeezed her. "I should chase her from my bed. It is _you_ I want tonight."

"Come now, love," she chided. "You are chieftain. You must look to the needs of all your folk. Even if some needs are more repellent than others."

He chuckled and gripped her buttocks firmly. "Ah, but you have needs as well, I suspect."

Arob squirmed in his arms and grazed his neck with her tusks. "That _is_ a good point."

"Our bed grows cold, husband," Shel snarled from the doorway. Burguk considered telling her to find a warmer bed elsewhere, but restrained himself. Knowing _that_ wench, she probably would. Reluctantly, he released Arob and stepped back, his eyes lingering on hers for several moments. Her brow puckered with sympathy, then she turned and went into the sleeping room.

Rounding on his wife, he gave her a disgusted look. "I will sleep tonight, and you will keep your fucking hands _off me_." Then he stomped into the bed chamber.

Shel swallowed hard. If she did not give him a child soon, he would abandon her completely. Already, Arob had hooked him once more. With Gharol also seducing him away from her, Shel found herself again looking for a way to drive a wedge between Burguk and the other two wives.

* * *

Standing rigid with her eyes scanning the road and the hills beyond the walls of Dushnikh Yal, Lily pondered. There weren't many in the stronghold, but they each had a role, they each contributed something to the overall health of the community. Working with Gharol on the rough beginnings of the blade for her daughter made Lily feel... good. Useful. Valuable.

Gharol taught her many things that Ghorza had only touched upon. Even Umurn gave good instructions and urged her to try new things. He became less worrisome to her the longer she was in his company, for he only discussed matters related to the forge, not bringing up again Ghorbash and his... hunt.

He still called her _ma_ -Lily, she thought sadly. Perhaps it was fitting, being desired by an Orc. She had been so thoroughly used by her own kind, it was unlikely any of _them_ would want her.

Her father had always sneered at the Orsimer, describing them in such terms that made her believe they were all cutthroats and thieves. Only her friendship with Ghorza, accidentally begun and secretly cherished, taught her otherwise. She suspected her mother would sniff disgustedly, criticize her for squandering her one valuable treasure, and tell her she was only worthy of an Orc whoremaster now.

Yet what could _he_ possibly want with her? The son and brother of chieftains. Valiant member of the Imperial Legion. Forbidden by tradition to take a wife...

_Taking a Nord wife would greatly reduce their authority._

Moth's words came back to her, clear as if he were standing beside her on the walkway. Yes, that must be it. Ghorbash desired her body only, for anything more would shame him as much as it would Burguk's sons. He would likely not keep his distance until he had her, either, for men did not deny their lusts for long. If she let him have his way, perhaps he would be satisfied and leave her be. Even if he did not, and came back for more, would it make any difference? Perhaps he would be like Phane, only requiring a suggestion of another's claim to declare her his property that no others were allowed to touch.

The thought of Ghorbash taking her for his pleasure did not disgust or frighten her, but neither did it fill her with any sort of girlish fluttering. She wasn't sure _what_ she felt. Regardless, it was far worse to anticipate a thing, never knowing when it was coming, than to just accept it.

A breeze brushed her cheek, and she realized it was wet.

* * *

"Gharol," Arob whispered in the sleeping room. Their beds were next to each other, placed more closely than any others, for they often spoke in the night.

"I'm sorry you are here tonight," Gharol said sympathetically. "And I am certain Burguk is as well."

Arob snorted with grim amusement. "That Shel is such a cunt. Even _you_ have to admit that."

The Forge-Wife narrowed her eyes. "Such words are beneath you, Arob." Yet a smile tugged at her mouth. "Even if they are true."

They giggled behind their hands as they had done years before as younger women. "If I were as much a whore as she is, I would have insisted he have me in the dining area, upon the table if needs be."

"Not a whore's way, if memory serves," Gharol chided with amusement. "Did you not entice him into similar displays in those first few years after he took you as Hunts-Wife?"

"Well," Arob drawled with false modesty, "I was younger then."

"And so Shel is young now," Gharol replied, as if she'd made her point.

"Hmph," Arob snorted, unconvinced. "We have all heard what she favors. Likes a good beating, that one." Her brow furrowed and she shook her head. "It is not a good thing, what she wants of him. Have you seen his face when he has bedded her?"

"I have," Gharol said softly. "It troubled me to see him so. But we needn't worry that he will use such methods on us. He grows weary of her games."

"So he did not seek to apply her scourge to your backside last night?" Arob chuckled.

"I would have told him where to put her scourge if he had dared draw it forth," Gharol sniffed. Arob had to stifle an explosive laugh. The Forge-Wife smiled almost shyly. "He did not seek his own pleasures last night."

"Oh?"

"I suspect you shall find out for yourself when he next takes you to his bed," Gharol said knowingly.

* * *

Burguk lay with his back to Shel, a grimace on his face as he listened to her vigorously pleasuring herself. She did this to 'punish' him when he was not interested in satisfying her often humiliating desires, believing he could not resist such a siren call. More times than he cared to admit, he had given in to the temptation. Though he had sometimes found the will to resist, Shel did not seem to care that abusing a woman, even in play, was degrading to _him_. Taking pleasure in such abuse filled him with guilt. Even the _thought_ of engaging in such things now that Lily had joined them made the chieftain sick to his stomach.

The thought crossed his mind for the first time that perhaps he should consider releasing the woman back to her father's stronghold. It did not sit well with him in any case, to have a wife he did not love. Having a wife whose mere presence cast a shadow over her husband that sapped his will was not acceptable. With war and dragons coming, he could not afford to be weak for any reason. Yet to do so would shame her, and he did not like _that_ idea either.

"Are you quite finished?" he growled as Shel's activities seemed to be winding down. "I would like to get some sleep."

"Am I disturbing you, husband?" she snapped, pressing up against his back and sliding her hand over his hip. "Not many days have passed since you relished your time with me."

To his annoyance, her hand closing over his member caused it to stiffen. He did not suffer treachery from anyone in the hold, least of all his own body. "Do not touch me," he snarled.

"Burguk," she pouted, beginning to stroke him in the way that had always pleased him, though it made him ill tonight. "I would have you inside me."

"Were you not satisfied by your own hand?" he asked, his breath catching for a moment. Damn her!

"I am never satisfied," she breathed in his ear, nipping the ridge. Her hand's motion was bringing him close. "I only seek to please _you_."

To his shame, the fever Shel inspired weakened him enough to allow her to pull him onto his back and mount him. A few strokes inside her was all that was needed to finish what she'd started. He supposed he could be grateful for a swift ending, at least.

Still astride him, she looked down at his face and smiled. He didn't much like how that smile made him feel.

"Dearest husband," she said softly, "do you not want me to bear you a child?" Without waiting for his answer, she tsked and went on, "However can I fulfill my duty as your wife if you do not lie with me?"

"I have bedded you for months, at the expense of Gharol and Arob," he snapped. "It has done no good."

Shel's expression hardened. "Your best seed is spilled within women past their prime," she replied. His brow furrowed. "Have you not heard it said that when a woman's moon blood ceases, she may no longer bear children?"

"I have heard this, yes," he agreed. "But Gharol and Arob still bleed."

"They have told you that, have they?" she replied, seemingly shocked. "I am surprised."

"Why would you be surprised? They are not as old as you seem to think," he said with a snort.

"Nor as young as _you_ think," she pointed out. "They have not bled once since I arrived, and it has been four months. If they were with child, Murbul would surely know by now. It would seem they may have told you a falsehood."

In all truth, Burguk avoided such intimate matters, considering them to be a woman's province and not a man's business. It was indeed possible that his wives no longer bled, but why would they keep such knowledge from him?

On the other hand, how important was it, really? Shel did not give him the opportunity to ponder this question.

"I want to give you a child, Burguk," she said, beginning to move her hips once more. "But I must have your _full_ attention to do so."


	13. The Prince's Claim

"You waste time," Shel snarled. " _Finish it_."

Oglub dug his nails into her hips and stepped up the pace. "You are a bit of filth, Shel. This is not easy to endure."

"Mention your distaste to my husband once more, and I might let slip a few bits of information you won't like," she snapped.

"Cunt," he growled. "Bring your fucking scourge, next time. Perhaps if I beat you, I will be in a better mood."

She chuckled. "And have you leave your marks alongside the chieftain's? I think not."

* * *

"Child," Murbul said firmly, her lips pressed tight. "Leave the forge at once."

Lily looked up from the bellows, startled. Even Gharol stopped her work to stare at the elder woman.

"Have I done something wrong?" the Nord asked.

"My son was a fool to give in to you, but I will not." Crossing her arms determinedly, the wise woman said, "You have not slept in days, likely not since you won your freedom. If I have to sit upon you in the sleeping room, you _will_ lie down and rest."

"I am fine..."

"Nonsense! Go to the longhouse. _Now_."

"You had best go," Gharol said quietly. "I hadn't realized... you would not wish to make a costly mistake, would you? The forge is no place for that."

Crumbling, Lily nodded. She threw no fit, voiced no further protest. Murbul knew this was not normal for the girl, not the way she had spoken to Ghorbash before leaving for the gauntlets.

 _Her spirit is broken_ , the old Orsimer woman thought. _How will that clumsy boy mend it?_

Lily entered the longhouse and obediently went to the sleeping room. She was brought up short by Nagrub, standing naked by a large basket of various pieces of hide armor that he'd apparently cleaned, trying to figure out which one was his. Glancing over his shoulder at her entrance, he grunted and nodded a greeting, then returned to his task.

She almost fled, but forced herself to remain. Where would she go? Fear of being taken prisoner again would keep her safely within the stronghold for some time yet. If Nagrub also wished the use of her, he would have what he wanted sooner or later anyway. What difference did it make? Sighing, she went to her bed.

"Ghorbash'll be along soon, I'm guessing," he said conversationally after a few minutes. "Markarth is not that far away."

Turning her head, she tore her eyes from the ceiling to look at him. He was still as unclothed as before, and for a moment she stared at his dark-skinned form. The Orsimer were so different from the pale Bretons who filled the ranks of the Forsworn, much like the equally pale Nords, she suspected. Orcs, by contrast, seemed to be green-tinged Dunmer. Phane had been a man too comfortable in his own fortress, thick in the waist and heavier than most of his own men. Nagrub and the other Orsimer men were lean and muscular. Even Burguk was in better shape than the Forsworn leader, for all that he had left his youth behind.

Blinking, she returned her gaze to the ceiling. "Should I be happy to see him?"

"If you like," Nagrub replied. "He would be happy to see _you_ , I expect. Hopefully he won't grab you like before, though, eh?" The Orc chuckled. "He was never such a blunderer when on the hunt. You've unsettled him."

"I've done nothing," she protested.

The Orc snorted with amusement. "You did not have to." Sighing, he growled under his breath, "There are not so many of us in the damn hold to account for this infernal pile. Where is _mine_?" Squatting down, Nagrub furiously dug in, tossing hides onto the nearby bed as he searched for whatever telltale sign would reveal his own.

In spite of herself, Lily giggled at his antics, so like a frustrated young child. He glanced up and grinned at her.

"Didn't think to ever hear you laugh again," he commented. "It is good to hear."

Her smile faded, and she looked away. Nagrub went back to his task. Lily sat up on her bed and hugged her knees.

"Does... Ghorbash desire me?"

"Most assuredly," he replied absently. "I hear he swore an oath to Malacath on the matter. Summoned him and all."

Lily swallowed nervously. Her choices seemed even more limited than before, if the Prince now worked against her. "I see." She drew a shuddering breath. "That... explains things."

Arching his brow, Nagrub looked over. "Explains what?"

"I was told... that I belong to Malacath," she said quietly.

The Orsimer's eyes widened. " _Who_ told you that?"

"I heard the Divine Voice of Dibella, when I cleansed her shrine," Lily replied. "She told me to return here, for purging. And that she can no longer look after me, for I belong to the Prince of Orcs."

Nagrub's mouth hung open. "You... you are _blessed_ ," he breathed. Leaping to his feet, he rushed to embrace her joyfully.

Lily nearly climbed up the wall behind her. Cringing in the corner, she gasped in terror, eyes squeezed shut. Nagrub checked himself, realizing suddenly that he wore nothing.

"Forgive me, Lily," he muttered. "But such an honor, to be chosen by Malacath... And you who are not Orsimer... I forgot myself. I am sorry." He awkwardly reached into the basket and grabbed the first hide he came to, not caring whose it was. Fixing it on hastily, he scurried from the room.

It took several minutes for Lily to calm herself, and only after assurance that Nagrub would not soon return. When she could think clearly, she reasoned that the claim upon her was urged by the Orsimer himself. If the Prince of Orcs intended her to serve Ghorbash's lust, what chance had she?

* * *

"I confess, it is beyond my reckoning how to accomplish such a task," Ghorza said with a sigh. Glancing at Ghorbash as they walked down the road toward the stronghold, she frowned. "Until I see her myself, I do not have an answer for you."

"Surely, being a woman...," he insisted. "You must understand _that_ at least."

"I understand _many_ things about being a woman," she replied, "but not about being a _damaged_ woman."

"She is not 'damaged,'" Ghorbash snarled defensively. "Her worth is not diminished by what was done."

"I did not mean that." Shaking her head, Ghorza said, "She has been hurt. Badly, by the sound of it. You ask how you may heal her. I do not know."

Bowing his head, he growled, "It will not be enough for me. I want her as wife. How do I manage _that_ , I wonder?"

"What does your brother say?"

"He does not think I can win her, and so gives his blessing," Ghorbash chuckled.

"You should keep your talk of wedding her, _and_ bedding her, to yourself for a time," Ghorza warned.

* * *

The Orcs were gathered about the table in the dining area of the longhouse, enjoying a meal prepared by Nagrub according to his mother's instruction, when Ghorza and Ghorbash entered. Burguk rose to greet them.

"Ghorza gra-Bagol," he said with a smile, extending a hand. "It is good to see you again."

Oglub glanced over his shoulder then quickly turned away, stiffening with fear. He shot a look at Shel. Not understanding at first, she rolled her eyes.

As if a shroud had been lifted from her, Lily rushed into her friend's arms. "Ghorza!" she cried, hugging her fiercely. "How do you come to be here?"

"Ghorbash thought you could use a friend," she replied, laughing.

Finally, the light dawned on Shel, and she hastily interrupted. "I have heard so much about you!" she cried, nearly prying the woman away from Lily. "How fares Markarth? Is the market still as sparse as the last time I was there? Only the one jeweler to be had, such a shame."

As she babbled on, Oglub gratefully slipped out unnoticed. His feet couldn't deliver him safely to the mine's tunnels fast enough.

He'd been unnerved before, learning of the surviving member of the stronghold he'd betrayed. Now he was terrified by the realization that she was his own sister.

Burguk beamed at the newcomer as she nodded stiffly to Shel. "Your coming is... appreciated. Thank you."

Looking up at the chieftain, Ghorza said steadily, "I owe you an apology, Burguk. It would have been my duty to come to you as wife. Instead, I ran before the decision was final."

Shel looked in shock at the woman, then back at Burguk. The chieftain was smiling at Ghorza.

"No apology is necessary, good Ghorza," he said gently. "I know now that a woman must follow her own path. Are you happy with yours?"

"I am, Chief Burguk."

"Then all is well." He raised her hand to kiss the back of it. Her cheeks colored a darker shade, and she looked away shyly.

"Feast with us, old friend," he said. "You are welcome in Dushnikh Yal."

* * *

"How long will she stay?" Burguk asked as he and his brother watched from a discreet distance while Ghorza and Lily sat together by the fire in front of the longhouse. After dinner ended, the two women had departed for a walk about the stronghold, and were now huddled together in close counsel, the Nord leaning against her friend, wrapped in comforting embrace. Many tears had been shed; Ghorbash winced with the memory of hearing such despair.

"Only a few days," his brother answered. "She has an apprentice who is not very trustworthy, and she loathes leaving her work to burden her brother. Although he does not sound too busy at the moment."

"Did you tell her the fate of Bagol?"

"Aye, both of them," Ghorbash nodded. "She wept. Her father was chieftain; her mother the Forge-Wife. When she and her brother left, her mother was great with child."

Burguk swore under his breath. "The Empire forgets the debts it owes."

"I have heard rumors that the Thalmor were behind it, and did most of the work," Ghorbash growled. "The Empire knows better than to cross them."

Tilting his head, Burguk looked carefully at the women by the fire. "Lily seems... different, do you not think? With Ghorza here?"

"She smiles more," Ghorbash agreed. "And she laughed once."

"Perhaps she will recover, then," the chief said thoughtfully. "You did well." Glancing at his brother with interest, Burguk said, "How did it come to you? To bring her here?"

"I was but a young boy when Arob's first born was stricken with fever," Ghorbash replied. "But I remember how she mourned. Gharol gave her such strength, just by listening, that I thought... Well, it seemed to me that if she had a friendly ear, she might be able to purge the poison within her."

"How in Oblivion did you get so wise?" Burguk chuckled. "Yes, their friendship blossomed during that time. They have been close ever since. It was fortunate, for I required _both_ to ease my own heart." His brow furrowed. "It is a painful thing, to lose a child. They are precious treasures."

"Lash had her reasons, Burguk," Ghorbash said gently. "Your decision was likely not the only one."

"I know," the chief replied, nodding in grudging agreement. "My pride suffered, but it was a small thing compared to her departure. I'll not forget it soon." Turning to his brother, he said, "You did well, as I said. You will win her heart yet, with such methods."

Ghorbash snorted with amusement. Gesturing at his face, he said, "She will need to see beyond _this_ before her heart is won, if it even warms."

"I suspect it is more than your ugly face that freezes her heart," Burguk pointed out, only slightly in jest. "Now tell me. What did you learn in Markarth? Should we raise our walls higher?"

Ghorbash launched into his tale of the return of dragons, and the Orsimer Dragonborn. When he eagerly related the part about the Dragonborn's Nord lover, Burguk chuckled and shook his head. "It is a pity they do not come _here._ This woman may show Lily there is no shame in loving one of us."

* * *

As the Orsimer residents bedded down for the night, Lily sat on the edge of her bed and spoke in low tones with Ghorza, assigned the bed next to hers for her stay. She had emptied her pack into the small dresser beside the bed, and was lounging comfortably.

"So much better than those stone slabs in Markarth," she breathed with a sigh.

"I thought so, too," Lily replied. "The beds are wider here, as well."

"Good for sprawling," the Orsimer woman said sleepily, doing just that. Grinning, she snuggled beneath the blanket, and soon drifted off to sleep.

Lily sat unmoving for several minutes. She did not wish to defy her apparent master, and either disdain the claim of Malacath's servant, or avoid the inevitable any longer. While it was humiliating to do such a thing while her old friend was in a bed across the room, Lily had been used in much more public manners before. She should not shrink from doing what was required of her.

Slowly standing, she made her way through the dark room full of snoring Orcs to Ghorbash's bed by the wall near the doorway. With shaking hands, she removed her dress. She pulled the blanket back, slid inside, and set about the duty of warming his bed.

* * *

Ghorbash entered the longhouse wearily, his mind filled with needed repairs his walk along the walls had revealed to his critical eye. Timbers would have to be cut and moved, new leather thongs for tying them in place would need to be harvested from the local wildlife. Sabre cats and cave bears, mostly. They yielded the most usable leather. He'd have to inform his brother so the necessary orders could be issued.

Entering the gently rumbling quiet of the sleeping room, he turned toward his bed and nearly cried out in shock.

" _ma-_ Lily!" he hissed, completely stunned. Glancing about, he reassured himself that no one heard his outburst. All seemed to be comfortably asleep. "What are you doing here?" he whispered.

"I warm your bed, Ghorbash," she said in a quiet voice. "I thought... it would please you."

He blinked rapidly, trying to think of when he had made any comment that would lead the woman to believe she owed him such things. "I... do not require... Thank you, but it is not necessary," he replied awkwardly.

"I could not bear waiting," she said in that same small voice, unsteady now. "I am told you hunt me. I know you will not be satisfied until you have had me. So... I am here. Take what you want, and be done."

Greatly desiring a chair to sit upon, for his knees were about to give way, Ghorbash shook his head vigorously. "I do not _hunt_ you, _ma-_ Lily. And I do not want you... like _this_."

"Umurn says you have claimed the right of the hunt," she said, sitting up and holding the blanket against her bare breasts. "Nagrub says you appealed to Malacath for my use."

 _Stupid boys!_ his thoughts roared. _Their loose tongues will ruin all!_

"No, I... I do not _hunt_ you as one hunts prey," he said carefully.

"I know... it is... words only," Lily acknowledged. "Gharol told me of your... fancies."

"Of... the other... I did not ask Malacath to... provide a... That is not what I asked of him," he insisted.

Her head was bowed, and he could not see her face. She hadn't looked at him once, in fact.

" _ma-_ Lily," Ghorbash said firmly, "we must talk, but not here. It is not... a very private place."

Shrugging slightly, she rose from the bed. Even in the darkness, he could see her naked form, and though he had grown up in a stronghold where naked bodies were often seen, hers was decidedly different, and not because of her race. He averted his eyes respectfully, and led the way to the dining area.

When he turned to face her in the better lit room, he started. She hadn't bothered to wrap herself in a blanket or don a sleeping shift, as he would have expected. She stood before him, head still bowed, hair shielding her face. He started to remove his shirt to give her, but stopped when he saw the marks on her leg.

They stood out startlingly well against her pale skin. The brief moment of confusion as to their origin and purpose were sickeningly revealed by recalling her words: _Do you wish to cut your count into me as well?_ There was a gap in the front, as if two or three marks had not been applied. As if a tally was being recorded, and the record was not yet complete. It was thrown once more in his face what happened to her. That any could treat this woman so basely completely shocked him. Marking her as if she were cattle. He grimaced with revulsion.

Of course, it was then she chose to look up at his face. Seeing his expression, she blanched and ducked her head again.

"I disgust you," she said quietly. "I am... ruined. Such filth as I am is not welcome in your bed. I understand."

Ghorbash rubbed his face in frustration. "You do not disgust me," he growled. "And you are not filth. You will always be welcome..." He stopped himself before he said something stupid. With deliberate movements, he stripped off his shirt and urged her into it. She obeyed him without question.

"Where do you want me for this... talk?" she asked.

Startled, he shrugged. "Here is fine. Please understand, _ma-_ Lily, I did not bring Ghorza here to put you in my debt, or in my bed."

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Talking," he said hesitantly. "It is what I said I wanted to do."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Is this some sort of... game?"

Ghorbash frowned. "No. I do not understand."

"Talking means fucking, does it not?"

"No, it doesn't!" he blurted. "Who told you that?"

"Phane 'discussed matters' with me, and it was fucking," she said calmly. "Gharol wished to 'discuss' the gift of the gauntlets with Burguk, and _that_ was fucking. I suspect the words he wished to share with Arob were also fucking."

As if in confirmation, the sounds of Shel winding Burguk up for her own chat drifted from the chieftain's quarters. Growling angrily, Ghorbash took hold of Lily's elbow and nearly dragged her from the longhouse.

The stronghold's fire had died down to smoldering coals, and the air was chill.

"You prefer outside, then?" Lily asked.

"No, dammit," he snarled, turning her to face him. "I do not want you _at all_ right now."

She flinched. "I have not pleased you," she whispered, trembling.

"Look at me," he hissed, grabbing her upper arms and shaking her briefly. She couldn't help it; her eyes rose to his. Swallowing hard, he said, "I want you. I desire you. It would please me _greatly_ to share my bed with you. But... I do not want you until _you_ want _me_. Do you understand?"

"No, I do not," she whimpered fearfully, tears in her eyes. "I have offered you all that I have. You say you want me in the same breath that you say you do not."

"What you offer is... not what _you_ want to give," he said carefully. "I do not want you to _endure_ my touch. I want you to _enjoy_ it."

"Oh," she said, relaxing suddenly. "I see now."

He nodded and loosened his grip.

"I have done this before," she went on, and his horrified revulsion increased with every word. "I understand that men want to believe they give pleasure to their vermin. I have pretended. I became quite good at it. I can do this for you as well."

He almost vomited. He wanted to bellow his fury to the heavens. Vermin? They told her she was _vermin_? "You are not vermin, _ma-_ Lily! And I do not want you to _ever_ pretend," he cried desperately. How was he ever going to reverse such beliefs? "If you do not want me, you needn't accept me with falsehoods. There will never be a time when I will take from you what you are not willing to give."

"But I _am_ willing!" she protested. "I have made my decision. It is inevitable, like snow in the winter. You lust for me and sooner or later, you will come for me." She tore his shirt off her body and threw it to the ground, then spread her arms wide. "Take what you want. Just... tell the others... I am yours alone."

She was offering her body in payment for being untouched by anyone else, he realized. His mind reeled as he recalled her earlier words of knowing how to pretend pleasure, and wondered if she had used such a tactic to reduce the abuse she suffered, thin the field of attackers down to one. And then again to achieve such minimal freedoms that allowed her to poison the lot of them...

His stomach roiled at the thought.

"Why do you hesitate?" Lily asked nervously, lowering her arms. "I offer my cunt willingly."

"Do not... say such things," he growled, unable to look at her. "I do not want that."

"What do you want, then?"

Taking a deep breath, Ghorbash looked at her face. She seemed like a child wanting desperately to please and not understanding what she was doing wrong. "I want your love, _ma-_ Lily."

"But... I am trying to _give_ you my love, and you will not take it!" she wailed in confusion.

"It is not love you are offering me," he said sadly, "and I cannot, _will_ not accept it."

Flaring up angrily, Lily snarled through clenched teeth, "It is all I have, there is nothing more. If you do not want it, then stop haunting me. Call off this 'hunt' of yours."

Ghorbash shook his head. "It is too late. My heart is lost to you, and I do not want it back." Picking up his shirt, he once more covered her body with it, his hands gentle. "I have vowed to restore you, and I will do so. I will take you back to _your_ bed, tuck you in, and kiss your brow."

She stared at him, unsure what to think, as he guided her back into the longhouse. He made good on his promise, and she found herself lying in her bed, her blanket secured about her shoulders. When he kissed her forehead, his lips lingered, and his breath warmed her skin. He whispered to her, "Sleep, ma-Lily. Know that nothing will ever be taken from you again. Not by me, nor anyone else. You have my word."


	14. Acts of Love

Come morning, Lily was still wakeful. She had not closed her eyes since Ghorbash returned to his bed. The brief rest she had the previous day was not enough, but her mind churned too much for sleep to take her.

He confused her. She could _see_ his lust for her, could almost _smell_ it on him. Was this a game he played? Keeping her always in fear of his assault, the better to enjoy her cries and struggles when he finally fulfilled his promise? It was a new one, she had to admit. Phane had never kept her guessing. His men never failed to do exactly what they said they'd do, as soon as they said it.

Perhaps Orc men did things differently. That would explain why Nagrub and Umurn kept their distance. They but waited for their leader, Ghorbash, to take the first bite.

But he rejected her. Clearly, he wanted her on his own terms. Her offer implied willingness, which was not a man's preference. It was little wonder why he retreated.

"Kit. I would like to speak with you."

Startled, Lily turned over and looked up at Ghorza. She had a grim expression on her face. Sitting up, the Nord glanced down at Ghorbash's shirt, still engulfing her spare frame. It smelled like him, a not unpleasant sensation. Her brow furrowed.

"Ghorbash told me what you did," the Orsimer woman said awkwardly. She sat stiffly on the edge of her own bed, gripping her knees tightly. She was glad Murbul sent the Nord to bed again, rather than allow her to risk all at the forge. The sleeping room was empty, for all were about their duties already. Drawing a shuddering breath, she said, "You do not need to... you owe him no such payment."

"I know," Lily replied quietly. "I understand now."

"Do you?" Ghorza asked. She arched her brow skeptically. "Tell me what you 'understand.'"

"I understand that he wishes me to love him."

"That is right," the smith said, nodding. "Do you know why?"

"So that he may... please me."

"Yes," Ghorza replied with relief. "He wants nothing more than to please you." The nearly expressionless look on Lily's face, however, made the Orsimer wary. Narrowing her eyes, she asked, "Do you understand what love is?"

"It is humiliation and pain," Lily answered. "It is fucking. It is..."

"No, it is not!" Ghorza cried, horrified. Lily started at her friend's sudden outburst. "Kit, that is _not_ what it is!"

"We were _lied_ to, Ghorza!" Lily wailed. Grabbing the Orsimer's arms, eyes blazing, she hissed, "They say we must desire a man's touch, and long for his kisses, but only to trap us. It is a ruse. Do not fall for their lies! Do not believe them!"

Ghorza slowly shook her head. She no longer recognized Kit in the woman before her. "No, Lily. You were lied to, it is true, but not the way you think."

Releasing her, Lily's face crumpled. Tears began to form in her eyes and her voice trembled. "If it was not a lie, what... what I knew before... then why... why did my mother disdain my father's touch?"

"I do not know what lay in your mother's heart," Ghorza said cautiously, "but what I _do_ know of her, just from... rumor, is that... she married below her station. It is believed, by those who care about such things, that... they were... careless."

Frowning in confusion, Lily tilted her head. "What are you saying?"

Taking a deep breath, Ghorza replied, "This is rumor _only_ , you understand. It is believed that... your father got her with child. Your mother's family was... upset, understandably. Shame enough for their daughter to lie with a mere huntsman, worse to have issue from such a tryst. Sometimes I wonder if the Reach is not too close to High Rock, for these are Breton concerns more than Nord. Regardless, I suspect your mother's... dislike of your father had more to do with a loss in position than fear of his touch."

"But... Ghorbash has position, and I do not."

"He only has 'position' if he chooses to have it, and he has decided against pursuing such claims," Ghorza explained. "Kit, he is a good man. He does not deceive you. If you cannot trust him, then believe _me_ when I tell you that he wishes only to please you."

"Pleasing is fucking, also," Lily said dully. "Why men believe they must use all manner of words for it, I do not understand."

"Here, now," Ghorza said firmly, "I will teach you new words. To _please_ is not to fuck. It is to give pleasure. That can take _any_ form. If he gives you a lovely flower and you smile, then he has pleased you. If he gives you... his shirt to sleep in, for you are naked and cold, and you are warmed by it, he has pleased you. If he kisses you, and your heart flutters, then he has pleased you. Do you understand?"

"I... think so," Lily replied slowly. "It is not what I was taught..."

"You were told lies by those Forsworn dogs," Ghorza growled. "It was _they_ who lied to you. Did Dibella lie when she sent you here to cleanse your body of that man's filthy issue? Did she lie when she said you should seek Malacath's favor in this place? No, she did not."

"His favor," Lily whispered, fearful as she had been last night. "Ghorbash entreated him for me. Do you not see? If I deny the will of Malacath, he will curse me, will he not?"

"I refuse to believe even Malacath is so cruel that he would enslave you. More likely that he tests you."

"Tests?" the Nord cried. "Have I not been 'tested' enough? I failed! I am weak! I used base methods to slay my enemies! A coward's way! My father would be so _angry_ with me." Lily burst into tears, covering her face with her hands.

"You swore an oath, and you fulfilled it," Ghorza explained patiently. How many times had _she_ been told when she despaired, that the testing by Malacath made Orsimer stronger? "You had the strength within you to do so. What you did to free yourself... it was what needed to be done."

"I pretended enjoyment of Phane's treatment," Lily said, raising her wet eyes to her friend's. Her voice shook with despair. "I acted... the whore... so he would be kinder. So he would... make the others... stop. I do not want Ghorbash to know this."

"He has already guessed it," Ghorza said, wincing. "It is my belief, though he has not said it, that he wishes you had _not_ slain them. He deeply regrets that he cannot avenge you himself."

"I should not have disdained his offer," Lily sobbed, bowing her head. "I wished... so badly... for him to come for me. But then... he would have known my shame. I did not want him to know of it. I hoped to take it to my grave."

Reaching out, Ghorza gently lifted Lily's tear-streaked face and looked in her eyes. "You thought of him, while you suffered?"

Lily nodded. "Thoughts of him... were little comfort. My value was erased when I was taken the first time, and diminished further with each fuck that followed. I knew he could not want me."

Though she had heard the tale already, it never ceased to make her ill. Ghorza shook her head. "A woman's value is not... between her legs."

"My mother told me...," Lily began, frowning. Ghorza interrupted.

"Your mother wished you to gain the position she lost, and so restore it to her," Ghorza flared. "She would tell you _anything_ to ensure the opportunity would not pass _her_ by."

"But... my innocence would ensure such opportunities arose, would it not?"

"Only for those who treasure such things," the Orsimer growled. "Such considerations are not of value _here,_ and likely not anywhere else in Skyrim. Ghorbash does not care that your maidenhead was breached by another. He curses the manner in which it was _done._ " Taking a deep breath, she asked, "Did thoughts of him... give you strength?"

"They filled me with shame." Lily winced and looked away. "I thought he would... gloat. Mock me for my foolishness."

"He would do nothing of the sort," Ghorza said. "I know little of him, it is true, but I cannot imagine that he would ever be so callous to _any_ woman. Tell me, in all truth, forgetting what was done for a moment... Do you care for him?"

"I do not know." Looking up at the Orsimer woman, Lily said desperately, "I am not even sure what it _means_ anymore. So much of what I thought I knew was wrong, and now you say the truth of it... was not _true_."

"When you look at him, examine your heart," Ghorza suggested gently. "I think you will find that what you remember holds more truth than you thought it did."

* * *

"Where is Shel?" Burguk asked, closing his eyes contentedly as Arob massaged his shoulders.

"I care little," the Hunts-Wife replied mildly. "Likely seeing to the mine. She has spent much time in it of late."

"Hmph," Burguk huffed. "That woman can smell gold still buried in the earth. Must have caught a whiff of a vein."

"Let her prowl the mine," Arob murmured, kissing her husband's neck. Burguk smiled, tilting his head to the side to expose more flesh to his wife's mouth. "I have you to myself for a time."

"She wants a child, or she would not insist on so much of my attention," he sighed.

"More like she still seeks to supplant us in your heart."

Burguk chuckled, allowing Arob to ease him onto his back across the bed. "Not possible. I see right through her. She will not fool me as she once did."

Climbing astride her husband's hips, Arob stroked his chest, noting each scar, recalling each story they told. "What says Murbul?"

He shrugged. "Only that her body is not ready." Then his brow furrowed. He looked up at Arob. "Do you still... bleed?"

Arob's eyebrows rose. "Of course. The 'bloody curse' will be upon me in a fortnight or less. Why do you ask?"

"It is no matter," he said quickly. "What of Gharol? Do you know if she still bleeds?"

Chuckling, Arob swatted his chest. "'No matter,' indeed. Do you miss the laughter of children? Has Shel's humiliating failure made you desire it more?"

"You _know_ I do not measure your worth in those terms," he protested. "I was simply curious."

"The little bitch said we did not, eh?" Arob laughed. "No surprise. I imagine she uses such lies to keep your seed all to herself."

Rolling his eyes, Burguk shook his head. "As I said, it is no matter." Then he frowned. "Arob, beloved... I... I do not wish her to bear me a child."

"Why ever not?" the Hunts-Wife asked, surprised.

"I do not want... another Shel in my hold," he muttered.

"Neither do I," Arob replied seriously. "What are you saying, Burguk?"

"I must give it thought, but... with dragons and war coming, I...," he replied uncomfortably. "She weakens me, Arob. I have tried to make her welcome here, as have you and Gharol. Yet she still competes. She still wants my full attention. She warps all I say or do, until I can deny her nothing. I do not understand this."

"You are too easy on her," she replied with a wry smile. "You have grown accustomed to tamed women, for it has been many years since you were last so challenged."

Burguk scoffed and lightly patted Arob's cheek. "'Tamed' my ass. You still buck like an unbroken colt."

"Only when you require it," she shrugged. "Punish her as you did me, when I was reluctant to bend."

"When did I ever punish you?" he grinned, running his hands up her thighs beneath her skirt. "It must have been useless, for I've yet to see you bend."

She smiled and closed her eyes, delighting in the feel of his touch on her bare skin. So longed for, yet denied by the hateful whims of a spoiled bitch. "As I recall, you made me take watch duties on the nights you lay with Gharol."

"It was not a punishment, but a necessity," he murmured. "Your bow has no equal. And your eye is as keen in the night as it is in the day."

"Keen enough to see you in the dark," Arob said softly, unlacing her bodice. "In all your glory beneath the Hunter's Moon, making supplication to Malacath."

"Likely begging forgiveness," he replied, pulling on the ties of his breaches.

"No, it was a ritual of war, as I recall," she breathed, releasing her breasts to his hungry eyes. "Sending your brother off to the Legion to fight. You stole my kill, and I required recompense."

"Stole? No, you mistake now as you did then," he teased. "I found the bear dead. It was a blessing of Malacath." He sighed as his breaches opened, releasing his erection from confinement.

"It was slain by my bow that you so praise," she whispered, taking him inside her.

"Mmmm, no, natural causes," he insisted, closing his eyes and smiling blissfully.

"You'll next tell me it was a she-bear, so overcome with unrequited love that she took her own life rather than... mmm... go on living without your affection."

"Something like that."

* * *

"I am... sorry, Ghorbash."

He looked up from the fire before the longhouse. His thoughts had been far away, mulling over their words, trying to think of a way to deny them without hurting her. Now she had come to him on her own. Or perhaps Ghorza had pushed her out the door. Regardless, Lily was here.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he said quietly. "Please. Sit with me." He gestured to one of the logs that were dragged in his youth to surround the firepit. They were old and soft with moss now.

They sat side-by-side, less than a foot apart. Glancing over, he noted her trembling form, yet he kept his silence. Taking a long stick, he idly poked at the logs, sending a flurry of sparks into the air. Lily made a small noise that drew his attention.

"Forgive me," she whispered.

"I know of nothing you have done that requires forgiveness," he said gently.

"They are... lovely," she said. "The tiny flames that fly."

Smiling a little, he offered her the stick. Her hand brushed his lightly as she took it from him. Biting her lip, she copied what he'd done, and was rewarded with her own flying flames.

"I miss it," she said softly. "Hunting with my father."

"As do I," he replied. "The hunting. I never knew my father."

"I know. Gharol told me. I am sorry."

"I used to wonder what sort of man he was," Ghorbash said quietly, staring into the fire. "I was told he was like Burguk. And like me." He chuckled, ducking his head. "Hopeless men, with our women. Loving so fiercely, we lose ourselves."

"Are you lost, Ghorbash?" she asked.

"I am," he nodded. "And I would not wish it otherwise." Turning to look at her, he said, "Hunt with me tomorrow. We need new skins for repairs and armor. Meat for our stores. And I would enjoy the company."

She flinched and eyed him warily. "Leave the stronghold?"

"With me," he said carefully. "Only for the day."

"To hunt."

"Yes. To hunt."

"Is this..."

"No, it is not _that_ hunt," he said uncomfortably. Sighing, he growled, "I wish it had never been said. _Ma-_ Lily, will you come? It is for the stronghold's defense."

"For the stronghold," she repeated, nodding. "Yes. I will come."


	15. First Lesson of the Hunter

"Malacath witness your deeds," Arob murmured as she smeared warpaint across Lily's forehead and down over her cheekbones. "May he guide your hand and sharpen your eye." Turning to Ghorbash, she reached up and painted his face in the same way, speaking the same words. Behind them, Nagrub beat out a slow rhythm on a drum.

The sun was still hours from rising, but the hunters were prepared. Wearing simple hide armor, they looked nearly like the prey they would soon stalk. Lily felt terribly self-conscious in such garments, for her midsection was exposed, and the hide kilt barely reached her knees. Ghorbash's chest was completely bare, making him look more wild and bestial than in his comparatively civilized steel. No other garments would do, though: Arob insisted that a ritual hunt required the appropriate attire, and any hunt for the good of the stronghold was accompanied with reverence.

"Bear the heart of Dushnikh Yal forth," Arob intoned solemnly to them both. "May she bring such prey as is needed within your sight. Strike without hesitation, but not without mercy." Eyes twinkling and mouth twitching around a grin trying to disguise itself, she said, "Feel the warmth of her heart, and let it guide your feet, your hands, your... bodies."

Ghorbash darted a look at the Hunts-Wife, who winked at him.

"Become one with the land. Know its secrets," she continued. "Open your mind to your prey. _Learn its ways_ ," she whispered, looking expectantly at the chieftain's brother.

Swallowing, he replied, "Nothing shall be unknown to me. Secrets and ways are as air and water, and I shall know them."

Turning to Lily standing rigidly next to Ghorbash, Arob said softly, "Become the deer, the cat, the wolf. Know their secrets. Open your eyes and ears. Learn their ways."

Hesitantly, the Nord spoke the ritual words she'd memorized, "Nothing shall be unknown to me. Secrets and ways are as earth and fire, and I shall embrace them."

"Go forth," Arob said, stepping back and gesturing toward the open front gates. "Take Dushnikh Yal's heart. Bring it back whole." The hunters walked calmly out of the stronghold and into the wilds.

"Do you think this will help her?" Nagrub asked, not stilling the drumbeats until he could no longer see them in the distance.

"I hope so," Arob sighed. "I hope it is not too early for her to face those beasts again. I'm sure they'll run into Forsworn. It is hard _not_ to."

"I wish that _I_ accompanied them," her son growled. "I remember the light in her eyes before she left, and it is gone now. I would put that light back, even if it means the slaying of every Forsworn dog in the Reach."

Resting her hand on his shoulder, she smiled. "My good son. So like your father."

"I do not want to kill him, mother," he said quietly, bowing his head. "I do not understand why it must be so, sometimes."

"It is tradition," Arob replied sadly.

"I would not have you hate me, as Murbul must surely..."

"She does not," she interrupted swiftly, yet kindly. "She mourns, yes. Even after all these years. But she does not hate the son who took him from her. Just as I will not hate the son who takes Burguk from _me_."

* * *

"I am afraid I am a bit... out of practice," Ghorbash confessed as they walked down the road. "I trust your memory is better?"

"That depends," Lily said quietly. She wasn't entirely comfortable with the trip or the company, but could deny neither. "What beasts do you have in mind?"

"Sabre cats," he replied thoughtfully. "They are plentiful this time of year, and well past weaning their young. Bears, if we come across any. They'll be fat and lazy, going into their winter lairs, I expect." He glanced at her, checking for her agreement. She nodded.

"This is... just a hunt, is it not?"

"Yes," Ghorbash replied.

"Do Arob and Nagrub do this every time they go out?"

"The ritual? No," the Orc said, shaking his head. "This time is... different. You and I work to strengthen the hold."

"They bring in meat and hides every time they hunt," Lily pointed out. "Does this not do the same thing?"

"Yes, but...," he said, then sighed. "It is difficult to explain. They are doing what they do every day when they go out. That is their role. You and I are not the hunters for the hold. If anything, we require... more... attention, I suppose."

"So we do not fail?"

"Yes," he said, smiling a little. "So we do not fail."

"I see. And Malacath will watch us?"

"Most assuredly," he nodded.

"Then I must... please him, mustn't I?"

Ghorbash darted a wary glance at her. "I am certain you already _do_ please him, or he would not have claimed you." She shot him a startled look. He shrugged. "Nagrub told me what you said. He was... rather excited about it. I am sorry he frightened you. He would apologize himself, but... well, he's hoping you will just forget it ever happened."

"He did me no harm," she said quietly.

"No, that is true, but if you said otherwise to Burguk, he'd be in terrible trouble."

"Why?" Stopping, the Nord turned toward him and tilted her head curiously.

The Orsimer sighed. "When you arrived, Burguk told the men to keep their distance. He could tell... something happened, and he did not want you frightened. We tend to be a little... close, in the hold. You may have noticed."

A little smile flitted across her face. "Yes. I had noticed. That was kind of him."

Encouraged, he said, "You seem... happier, with Ghorza here."

"She has always been a good friend," Lily said. Raising her eyes, she looked at him fully for the first time since she left the hold so long ago. "Thank you for bringing her. I haven't been... very grateful."

"You owe me nothing," he said quickly. "Thanks are appreciated. A smile now and then, more than enough. And I have seen you smile, so I am content."

Furrowing her brow, Lily nodded uncertainly, but fell into step beside Ghorbash as he continued on.

"It has been many years since I went on a hunt," he remarked. "Not since I was a boy." Looking aside at the Nord, he grinned. "I trust you will teach me what you know? Your skills are undoubtedly superior to mine."

"I know only what was taught to me," she replied, though her tone betrayed how pleased she was to hear his praise. "What my father taught."

"He was, no doubt, a wise hunter," the Orsimer said. "Perhaps... not so wise in other things, but in hunting..."

"He taught me how to read the signs of the sabre cats," she whispered, her eyes fixed off into the underbrush. "Even from _this_ distance." Flashing him a quick smile that melted his heart, she darted off the road and was soon lost to his senses.

Alarmed for a moment, he shook his head and chuckled. He dropped into a crouch and followed more slowly. He nearly fell over her, she was so well camouflaged and silent. Pressing a finger to her lips, she pointed out the large paw prints in the dirt at their feet and the rank-smelling wet stain on the tree next to her. He didn't have to ask; it was undeniably fresh.

She seemed to transform before his eyes, and he thrilled at the sight. Finally in her element, where she felt her most confident, she was more at her ease and smiles came more readily, as did exasperation. She huffed impatiently at him for stomping heedlessly on a dry twig. He followed her lead after that, staying down and out of sight, guided by the territorial markings left by the sabre cat she hunted.

Eventually, her careful stalking bore fruit, and a huge male sabre cat came into view. It had just brought down its own kill, and was feasting contentedly when the hunters approached downwind. Together, they drew their bows, nocked an arrow each, and let fly in unison.

Lily dove apart from Ghorbash, who mirrored her action. When the sabre cat charged at their position, it came up empty-handed. The hunters converged behind it and fired again. Another twin volley brought the animal down.

Flush with success, the Nord smiled at the Orsimer. He grinned back. For a moment, Lily felt a surge of something almost unrecognizable rush through her, looking at him. It startled her, and her expression changed to confusion and fear almost instantly.

Frowning, Ghorbash asked softly, "Do I frighten you still, _ma_ 'Lily?"

Flinching at the sound of his voice, for they had hunted in silence for nearly an hour, she drew back from him, her distress rising. "Why do you call me that? I am no longer worthy of it."

"I am a stubborn man," he replied, shrugging. "It is what I called you before you left, and what I prefer to call you now. It still suits you."

"I am no virgin," she said, bowing her head in shame. "You must know that."

"I do," he nodded. "As I said before, it also means you are young. That is still so." Turning to the cat, he drew his knife. "Come. Help me take the hide. We should keep this. Our first kill together. Such things are important."

"My father told me...," she began, her voice almost dreamlike as memories came back to her. "A long time ago, when I slew my first deer... He said he wished my mother had an interest in hunting." Her brow furrowed as she sought to drag his words back. "He said they could have eaten the heart together." She grimaced. "I do not understand why he would... oh." She covered her mouth with her hand and turned away.

"I doubt it was anything to do with Namira," Ghorbash said. "It is symbolic. A hunter might devour the heart of his kill to acquire the wisdom and strength of the beast."

"Why would my father wish my mother to share it with him?"

"The heart represents strong emotions," he said carefully. "Often, those of love. I am certain he intended such an act to symbolize their love for one another."

Lily frowned. "She did not love him." Looking up at Ghorbash, she shook her head. "Ghorza told me some things, and... it has taken some time to recall other things. Mother did not want him to touch her. They did not share a bed. I think... I think that made him sad."

"If he loved her, I can understand that," the Orc nodded. "We are social creatures, humans and _mer_. When we have... affections for one another, we wish to be close. To touch."

"Phane was not affectionate."

Ghorbash growled at the mention of the Forsworn's name. "No. He was not. That sabre cat would have been kinder to you."

A brief laugh erupted from her, swiftly stifled. His rising ire dissolved at the unexpected sound, and he smiled at her. "Have you ever been kissed, _ma'_ Lily?" he asked softly.

Her eyebrows rose, then lowered in a troubled frown. "Yes," she replied slowly. "It seems so long ago." She flinched, recalling once more the argument with her mother over the incident.

"Do you recall what it felt like?"

Giving it some thought, she tilted her head and said, "He was not very good at it. He wanted to touch my breasts, and I would not let him."

In spite of himself, Ghorbash chuckled. "Typical young boy, then."

"Mother told me not to spread my legs for him," she continued, and the Orsimer sobered immediately. "She told me I would be ruined, and no use to her if I did."

"Ah," he said stiffly. "You did not get on well with her, did you?"

Lily shook her head. "I confess, I was not entirely surprised that she was among those worshiping Namira. There were several prominent citizens involved. No doubt she was trying to gain favor." Her expression grew sad. "My father... I prefer to believe he only did it to please her."

"He might have," the Orc agreed. "People sometimes do foolish things for love."

"Do you?"

"I would not call _this_ foolish," he smiled gently. "Seeing to your happiness? Not foolish either. But tell me: how did this boy's kiss make you feel?"

She sighed. "Why is it so important to you?"

Shrugging, he replied, "It is not, especially. It might be important for _you_ to remember, though. Wandering hands and poor skill aside, what did you feel?"

Gazing skyward thoughtfully, Lily slowly answered, "My heart... fluttered. My stomach clenched. I felt... warm, yet I shivered." Finding his eyes once more, she asked, "Was it wrong? To feel this way?"

"No," he reassured her. "It sounds exactly like what you were _supposed_ to feel. _That_ is what you need to remember. Sometimes... it feels good. And you should embrace that."

"Would it... feel good... if I kissed _you_?"

His heart suddenly thudded loudly in his chest, and he had to make a conscious effort not to nod vigorously like a young boy. "That is for _you_ to decide," he managed awkwardly. "I promise it would feel differently than you remember." He ruefully gestured at the large tusks jutting from his mouth.

"I must... think about it," she said evasively. "I am not certain I trust you. And you are... strange. I do not understand you."

"I am as you see me," he said. "Nothing more, nothing less." Not wishing the conversation to go on into uncomfortable areas, he knelt beside the cat's corpse and slit open the skin over the chest cavity. "It is tradition to share the heart of the first kill, and so we shall." He carefully cut the arterial fetters and drew forth the still warm organ, dripping blood down his arm. Lily knelt beside him nervously. He offered the first bite to her.

Trembling, she reached forth and wrapped her hands around the heart, enclosing his hand as well. Fighting down her instinctive revulsion, she steeled herself and, though grimacing with disgust, sunk her teeth into the thick muscle, tearing off a piece. The coppery taste of the cat's blood filled her mouth, but she chewed and swallowed. Ghorbash's hand covered hers as he took his bite, eyes never leaving her face.

Bite by bite, they consumed the heart together, then washed themselves from his water skin. Lily felt slightly ill, but not as much as she thought she would. What she did not expect, and wasn't so sure about, was the return of that strange, warm feeling from before, when they killed the cat and shared a look of triumph. Being with him was beginning to feel... good, for all its strangeness.

"Ghorbash," she said quietly, "will you always tell me the truth?"

"I will," he replied. "That is a promise."

"You wish to... please me?"

"Yes," he replied warily, wondering what definition of 'please' she was using at the moment.

"And you believe... a kiss... would please me?"

"In truth, I do not know if it would," he hedged. "It would be... different. You _may_ find it pleasant. I do not know. Not yet."

"I have not felt good in so long, I barely remember...," she sighed. "I want to feel good. I want the things I remember to just... go away. I want... to sleep without dreaming." Her voice quavered as tears filled her eyes. "I want to be _ma'_ Lily again."

"You will _always_ be _ma'_ Lily," the Orc said softly. "I cannot make your memories go away, but perhaps I can help them... not seem as important anymore. If I could climb into your dreams and fight your tormenters _there_ , I would gladly do it."

"Will you... kiss me?" she whispered, her lower lip trembling, eyes wide and pleading.

Ghorbash swallowed hard, yet could not quite clear the constriction in his throat rendering him mute. Nodding, he slowly leaned forward, giving her every opportunity to change her mind. He heard her sharp intake of breath when he was mere inches from her, and paused. When she did not retreat, he advanced again.

She closed her eyes as his lips touched hers. It was, indeed, different. She could feel the hard tusks brush her cheeks. Yet between them, his mouth was gentle, his lips soft. And she fell completely under their spell.


	16. Gifts Wanted and Unwanted

Ghorbash withdrew after an eternity contained in a moment, mindful that his passions were rising at an alarming rate. He did not wish them to overwhelm him. Lily remained leaning toward him, eyes closed as if he still held her in thrall. He very nearly dove back into that blissful kiss once more.

" _ma'_ Lily," he whispered. "Did I... please you?"

Her eyes fluttered open, and she slowly straightened. The expression on her face was dreamy for a moment, gradually changing to uncertainty, then wide-eyed terror. She slowly shook her head and scooted back away from him.

"I will not harm you," he said gently. "Tell me what frightens you. Whatever I have done..."

"I feel... things," she breathed, lower lip trembling. "It is not right."

"What do you feel?"

Her distress grew, and she clenched her jaw to keep from screaming. Grimacing, she said, "I feel... warm. My heart flutters. I... feel... a throbbing want..." Squeezing her eyes closed in shame, she whispered, "Between my legs."

The Orc struggled not to crow with triumph that he had affected her so. Even to suppress the pleased grin was difficult. Mastering himself, he nodded. "There is nothing wrong about what you feel."

She looked on the verge of tears. "Why does my body betray me so?" she pleaded. "Why does it want... what was done... to be repeated?"

His face went slack for a moment before he could rally. "That is not what your body wants. You are not betrayed, _ma'_ Lily."

"I did not... enjoy it," she sobbed, covering her face with her hands. "I only... pretended. I did not _want_ it."

"I know," he murmured, itching to embrace and comfort her.

"I thought... why would I feel _anything_?" she cried. "My body should not _feel_ , it should not _want_."

"You are... normal," he said, shrugging helplessly. "You are starving for a gentle touch."

"Why must the touching be _there_?" she wailed. Lily hugged herself about the middle as if her stomach were unsettled, and rocked nervously. Staring off into space, forgetting where she was or to whom she was speaking, she remembered everything else. "It hurt, every time. They made certain of it. Fighting made it worse. So much worse. _He_ was fooled. When I pretended. He was gentler, but it still hurt. It _always_ hurts."

"No, _ma'_ Lily," he said. "It does not. When it is wanted, it does _not_ hurt."

"Why would it be wanted?" she whispered, looking at him with haunted eyes.

"Because... it is... a precious gift," he replied awkwardly. How could he put it into words? "One to be shared. When it is taken, as it was from you, it _is_ painful. But shared... given willingly... it is... different."

She bowed her head. "You want... to give this... gift to me."

"One day, perhaps," he said gently.

"You will expect me to give in return."

Carefully choosing his words, he replied, "I will give to you... what you give to me. Nothing more, and nothing less. That is how it _should_ be. How it _must_ be."

Closing her eyes, she nodded. "And if I give nothing?"

He swallowed his disappointment. "Then... I must be content with that."

Seeing his pained expression, Lily winced. "I do not wish to hurt you, Ghorbash."

He nodded. "I know. You are blameless. It is my own foolish heart that causes my suffering. Not you."

"I suffer as well," she whispered. "You have been... so... kind to me."

"You owe me no debt."

"I understand that," she replied. Raising her eyes to his, she said, "You please me. When I am with you... I am pleased. I beg of you, do not leave me."

"I could not be dragged from your side," he said firmly.

Encouraged, she continued, "I feel safe in the stronghold. I do not wish to leave it."

"I apologize, _ma'_ Lily," he said. "I thought... a change... an opportunity to hunt as you once did..."

She nodded. "It is appreciated. I feel... stronger. If another... opportunity arose, and you were with me... I would welcome another hunt. I meant... I see Dushnikh Yal as... home."

"It warms my heart to hear you say that," Ghorbash said, smiling.

"When I first came here, before... I thought it such a cold place," she said. "Arob minding the defenses while her son was ill. I thought... there was no affection there."

"Now you have been accepted," he said. "Has your opinion changed?"

"There is kindness, generosity, affection, trust," Lily replied. "I am glad to be among you."

"And we are blessed by your presence," he said. Acting on impulse, he gently took her hand and kissed the back of it.

A soft, fluttering warmth spread through her at his touch, but this time, it did not frighten her. "I hope you will continue to be patient with me, Ghorbash," she said quietly.

"And you with me," he said, grinning sheepishly. "I am a soldier, and clumsy with words."

"You have comforted me with them," she assured him. "You have not offended me."

"That is good. Now, I think we should continue our hunt. The beasts will not slay themselves, and Dushnikh Yal needs us."

"Then we shall hunt for her," Lily said, and smiled.

* * *

"So," Shel said, "you are from the ill-fated Bagol stronghold?"

Ghorza stiffened and nodded. Though the dining area was filled by nearly everyone in the stronghold, she felt pinned and helpless under Shel's piercing gaze. It was a most unsettling feeling, and the Orsimer woman sensed that _this_ wife of the chieftain was not to be trusted.

Glancing at the chattering Orcs sharing the evening meal, Ghorza turned her attention back to Shel. "Yes. I and my brother left many years ago."

Startled, Shel repeated, "Your _brother_?"

"Yes," Ghorza replied. "Moth. He is smith to the Jarl." She straightened proudly. "There is no finer smith than he, in my opinion."

"Indeed," the chieftain's wife muttered absently. "And you know of no others who may have... survived?"

"No," Ghorza said sadly. "I suppose it is possible, but none have made themselves known to us. We were not particularly secretive of our movements after we left. Had anyone wished to find us, it would have been easy enough."

Relieved, Shel smiled at the woman. "It is fortunate you have your brother for comfort, then, is it not?"

Narrowing her eyes uncertainly, Ghorza nodded. "Yes."

"What was that you and Burguk spoke of... that you might have been his wife?"

Though she smiled, Ghorza felt inexplicably threatened by Shel's expression, and took care in her answer. "It was the reason I left. I had nothing against Burguk, mind you. I did not wish to be... part of a trade agreement." The chilly look on the third wife's face told Ghorza she had inadvertently stepped upon the very reason Shel shared Burguk's bed. "Forgive me," she breathed. "I did not realize..."

"It is no matter," Shel snapped haughtily. "Chieftains often strike such bargains."

"Yes, I know," Ghorza replied awkwardly. "I was not... as brave as you."

Somewhat mollified, Shel said, "He is not regretful, I promise you that. No other wife pleases him as I do."

"I am certain... he appreciates you," the smith said carefully.

"So... you remain unmarried?"

"For now, yes," Ghorza replied with annoyance.

Raising an eyebrow, Shel cried, "Why, Ghorza! Do I detect a hint of a blush upon your cheek? Has a strong, young Orsimer man caught your eye?"

She fought to keep from rolling her eyes. "Perhaps... one has done, yes. Orsimer men of quality are difficult to come by in Markarth. So many who pass through are on their way to the mine to serve out a sentence."

"Do tell me his name," Shel insisted.

"Mulush," Ghorza mumbled, and now a blush _did_ stain her cheeks. "He runs the smelter near my shop."

"That is _wonderful_ ," the chieftain's wife breathed. "I am so glad for you." _And myself_ , she thought with relief. A great weight seemed to shift from her shoulders, knowing Ghorza's affections lay elsewhere than Dushnikh Yal. The way her husband had looked at the woman... She feared her replacement had just walked in the door.

* * *

"Well, well," Arob called down from the wall as Ghorbash and Lily returned. "I am impressed. What lovely treasures have you brought?" Smiling, she opened the gates for them.

"Game was plentiful," Ghorbash replied wearily. He handed off a stack of hides to the Hunts-Wife, keeping the first for himself. "We have a good deal of meat as well. Have any been marked for drying it, or must I?"

"Leave the packs there. Nagrub will manage," Arob replied. "Just let me get these hides over to the forge. You should bathe, both of you," she suggested over her shoulder. "You smell like cat piss."

Lily giggled behind her hand.

Grinning, Ghorbash muttered, "A Hunts-Wife who does not know such methods?"

"Perhaps she lacked a wise teacher."

"I do not care what I smell like," the Orc growled good-naturedly. "We fooled a pride of them, and the hold will benefit from it."

"I do not believe the hold will thank us for bedding down among them as we are."

"True," he sighed, putting a companionable arm about Lily's shoulders. "Ungrateful wretches."

Snorting with an explosive laugh, Lily shared a smile with Ghorbash. Releasing her, he gestured behind the longhouse, and they headed for the bathhouse.

Running beneath the stronghold was an underground hotspring, providing the residents with a constant source of hot water for bathing and laundering. Lily had never been inside it, and hadn't known it existed, until now, and the close quarters made her hesitate.

"I will wait for you to finish," Ghorbash offered. "I want to ensure this hide is well cared for." He held up the first sabre cat's softly furred skin. "I think I will sit close to Shel for awhile." Grinning mischievously, he departed.

Taking a deep breath, Lily went inside the wooden hut. As soon as the door was closed, she stiffened warily. Her hunter's senses screamed that she was not alone.

"Who is there?" she said, her voice quavering.

"Just me," a quiet voice answered.

Trembling violently, Lily fumbled with the flint, trying to light the lantern. "Who is me?" she managed.

"Oglub," he replied, closer now.

The lantern's wick flared, filling the rough-hewn chamber with light. Turning, she fixed terrified eyes on the Orsimer.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"Hiding." His red eyes flickered in the lamplight.

"What do you want?" she whispered.

"Tell no one."

She shook her head vigorously.

His brow furrowed. "Is that... cat piss?"

She nodded.

Snorting, he said, "Better wash yourself. Ghorbash won't bed you if you stink like that." Then he left.

Lily sank to the floor, so relieved she wept.


	17. Suspicious Minds

Lily nearly leaped out of her skin when the bathhouse door banged open.

" _ma'_ Lily!" Ghorbash cried, searching the room. When his eyes fell upon her huddled form on the floor, he rushed forward and fell to his knees, gathering her in his arms. So fearful had she been on discovering Oglub lurking in the shadows, she returned the Orsimer's embrace with fierce desperation.

"I saw Oglub leave," Ghorbash explained, holding her trembling body close. "Did he harm you? Did he _touch_ you?"

"No," she gasped, her voice muffled by his shoulder. "No, he did not. I am... I am well."

Though relieved, the Orsimer couldn't bring himself to release her, and she seemed disinclined to let go of him as well. He was acutely aware of the feel of her against his bare chest, the smoothness of her skin under his hand. Taking a deep breath, he settled a little, releasing tension in his body, though not all of it subsided.

"He brushed past me, headed for the mine," Ghorbash said. "I suppose... he did not have time to... after you entered, but... I feared for you. He... I have never trusted him, though I do not know why."

"I have not seen him for days," Lily replied, and the realization came as a shock. They drew apart and looked at one another.

"Not since Ghorza arrived," the Orc said hesitantly.

Trying to remember, the Nord's brow creased with thought. "He was there, at dinner. Then... he was not. I did not see him leave. Shel was making such a fuss..."

"Shel," Ghorbash snarled. "Arob says she is in the mines lurking about these days, even before Ghorza came. Likely sniffing out gold. The woman cannot be satisfied with what we have, and must ever strive for more."

"Oglub said he was hiding," Lily recalled, ignoring the Orc's request that she say nothing to anyone. Ghorbash wasn't just 'anyone.' "Do you suppose he was hiding from Shel?"

"Hmph," the Orsimer grunted. "As much time as she spends in here, 'preparing' herself for my brother's bed, it is a poor place to hide."

"You do not think... he hides from Ghorza?" Lily suggested incredulously.

"Gharol _did_ show her the mines today," Ghorbash said thoughtfully. "Or was planning to, so I was told yesterday. But why? Why would he hide from her? It does not make sense."

"My father taught me to track, and to stalk," Lily said slowly. "Perhaps... I should watch him. See why he hides." She glanced up at the Orsimer to test his reaction to such a lack of trust in the stronghold. He did not seem angered by it.

"If he has good reason, there should be no harm in it," he said carefully. "But say nothing. Especially not to Burguk. If one of his men is a traitor, I would rather tell him when we know it for certain."

"Traitor?" Lily whispered, eyes wide. "Do you truly believe...?"

He sighed. "I do not know. But as I said, he has always made me... untrusting. He came to us not long after Bagol was leveled, and there was talk of betrayal in that. I have been wary ever since. I would not have the same thing happen _here_." Taking hold of her shoulders firmly, he gazed intently into her eyes. " _ma'_ Lily, if you do this, be cautious. Do not reveal yourself. The dog may bite if his secrets become known."

* * *

Now that Lily's attention had been arrested by Oglub, she began to pay him more mind, and what she learned disturbed her. Always before, he carried out his duties in the mine with the rest of the miners, taking his meals and sleeping in the longhouse just as everyone in the stronghold did. No longer. Concealing herself in a corner of the mine the following morning, she watched the comings and goings for some time, and saw no sign of Oglub until much later, yet he did not enter the mine from the front. It seemed he had slept deep in a lower tunnel or somesuch place. Nor did he venture out when the others took their afternoon meal. She wondered at this, for her own insides were gnawing at her, and she had not spent the day laboring at the Orichalcum veins.

Oddly, Shel entered the mine while the others were gone. She easily tracked Oglub down by following the sounds of his pickaxe. Lily narrowed her eyes curiously, watching the woman approach the miner.

Hearing her, Oglub glanced back, then threw his pick to the ground in a fury.

"Can you not spare me your fucking cunt _one day_?"

"I grow weary of your vile cock," Shel retorted smoothly. Turning her back on the Orsimer, she leaned forward over a rocky outcropping and hiked up the back of her skirt. Lily's eyes flared wide seeing the woman's bare backside displayed so casually. "But we have a bargain. Unless you wish me to whisper in your dear sister's ear, you had best shut your mouth and make yourself useful for once."

Growling under his breath, Oglub furiously untied the laces of his breeches and released his member. "Foul whore," he hissed, stroking himself to reasonable stiffness. "I begin to wonder if death by your husband's hand is not _preferred_." On his last word, he drove himself into her.

Lily sat in the shadows with her hands covering her mouth, unable to tear her widened eyes away from their rough coupling. Though she had known such violation, and seeing it done to another made her cringe, it seemed different somehow. Shel did not appear unwilling. If anything, it was _Oglub_ who looked the victim in this. But how could such a thing be possible?

Then she shook herself. She was focusing on the wrong thing. Shel was the chieftain's wife. This was _wrong_. Terribly wrong.

* * *

"Ghorbash," Lily whispered from the shadows cast by the longhouse later that day. He was using the training dummy to burn off some of his frustration and impatience. She'd been gone all day, and hadn't shown up for the mid-day meal. Hearing her voice, he abruptly stopped swinging his sword and looked around. "Come here, please!"

Rushing to her, he joined Lily in her hiding place without question. "What is it, _ma'_ Lily? What did you see?" he asked as quietly as his rough voice allowed.

"I... am frightened," she breathed. "I have seen..." She stopped and looked about them, as if fearing someone would come upon them at any moment and hear. Ghorbash took her hands in his, and held them tightly, for they trembled.

"Tell me," he urged.

"Oglub... hides in the mine," she began, her voice shaking. "He sleeps in the western tunnel, all the way in the back where there are no lanterns. A dead vein, I think. He did not take his meal with the others. He stayed. And _she_ came to him."

"Who?"

Taking a deep breath, Lily hissed, " _Shel_. She bade him... take her. They... they... fucked."

Ghorbash's face went slack. Whatever he thought might be happening in secret under the chieftain's nose, it wasn't _this_.

"Ghorbash," she wailed desperately, "that is not all! I think... I think... from what was said, for she threatened him if he did not... serve her... I think Ghorza is his _sister_. He is from Bagol."

"That is not possible," he said, shaking his head in denial. "All were slain. No. That cannot be."

"She told him she would whisper in his sister's ear if he did not...," Lily faltered. Squeezing her eyes shut on thoughts of what they did, she focused on the words. "When he finished, she told him Ghorza would be leaving soon. Perhaps I am mistaken, but... he seemed relieved. He said he wearied of hiding from... from his _kin_. His _kin_ , Ghorbash!"

"He is fucking a chieftain's wife," the Orsimer growled. "My _brother's_ wife. Trash that she is, this is an insult, a betrayal of the worst kind..."

"Ghorbash!" she cried, releasing his hands. She grabbed his arms and shook him, making him look at her. "Ghorza is his _kin_ , yet he fears to face her. Why? Should he not embrace one he thought dead? Should he not be grateful that she was spared the fate of the rest of his family? Why does he not want to see her?"

Realization dawned on the Orsimer in a rush and his eyes widened. "It was _him_."

* * *

"We must be certain," Ghorbash whispered as he and Lily entered the mine before dawn's light the next morning. "I will not make such an accusation unless there is truth in it. Burguk would never forgive me."

Lily nodded, leading the way to the place she had used the day before. They hunkered down in the dark hollow, pressed close together by the cave walls, and waited.

Though he was more angry than he'd ever been in his life, Ghorbash was not unaware of Lily's proximity. He was obliged to wrap her shoulders with his arm and hold her close to him in the tight enclosure, and he could smell the lavender she bathed with.

It had seemed necessary and a good idea when the Orsimer declared he wanted to see this for himself, to bear witness so they could _both_ swear to it, not just her. But now that Lily was nearly engulfed in the arms of a man she had grown fond of, whose nearness made her weak with longing, she felt deep misgivings about what they were sure to see together. Would the act performed by Shel and Oglub inspire Ghorbash to follow suit? She had felt no arousal, seeing them the day before, but that was to be expected. It was revolting, much as her own experience had been. The things they said to each other, which she had _not_ wanted to repeat, were little different from words spoken to _her_.

But Ghorbash was a man, likely not able to see past the act itself. She steeled herself. If she must serve his lust after this, it would be worth it. Oglub may have doomed his entire stronghold; she did not want to see Ghorza come to harm as well.

As had happened the day before, Shel entered the mine after the others had left for their meal, and went to Oglub with threats and insults. Ghorbash quivered beside Lily, watching their tryst, listening to their words, and Lily cringed. As soon as the way was clear, they sneaked out of the mine. Taking her by the hand, the Orsimer led her to the bathhouse, one of the few places in the stronghold that gave utter privacy. Lily nearly wept in fearful expectation.

Ghorbash barely had the door closed behind them when a stream of curses and swear words came out of him in a torrent. The Nord hastily retreated to a far corner and watched in terror as the Orc proceeded to tear the place apart in his fury. Wooden racks for drying clothes were reduced to splinters. Small pots of cleansing herbs and ointments were shattered against the walls. When he ran out of things to destroy, he beat on the rock walls until his fists were bloody; he roared until his voice was ragged and hoarse. Then he stopped.

There was a long moment when nothing was said, and no sound but Ghorbash's heavy breathing disturbed the silence. Leaning on the edge of the depression holding the hot spring's water, he stared down into the depths without seeing and took deep, calming breaths.

"Burguk is a good man," he finally said, his voice dull and lifeless. "He does not deserve such treachery." Clenching his fist, he almost struck the rock, but slowly lowered it, and squeezed his eyes shut. "I met Ghoragdar once. He was... a wise chieftain. Strong. His people would have followed him to Oblivion if he but asked."

Straightening, Ghorbash cast a grim look at the door, as if he saw nothing but pain beyond it. "This cannot lie. It must be told. I will not have my brother insulted by that fucking _harlot_ one moment more, and I will not stand idle while the _murderer of Bagol_ basks in refuge within our walls!"

The sound of Lily's whimper made him turn, and he finally saw that she was cowering in the corner.

" _ma'_ Lily," he breathed, and slowly approached her. "Forgive me." He knelt before her trembling form and gently took her hand. "I am not often... so enraged. Please do not think I would ever be so with you."

She slowly raised her head and looked at him. He winced, seeing the fear in her eyes, the tears staining her cheeks. Reaching forward, he gently brushed a fresh tear from her face. " _ma'_ Lily," he whispered. "You spoke truly. We will tell Burguk together, and he will decide what is to be done." Ducking his head with chagrin, he added, "Do not be surprised if he is just as furious as I when he learns of it. I have been told our father had a vile temper."


	18. The Price of Betrayal

Burguk stared at his brother, uncomprehending for a moment. He huffed several times, attempting to speak, but words would not come. His mismatched eyes flicked to Lily, unable to meet his gaze, but that was nothing new.

"You have proof of this?" he finally managed to growl.

"Only my ears, brother," Ghorbash said evenly. "And Lily's. We heard... references. We watched, and listened. He is the betrayer of Bagol. There can be no doubt."

"In my hold, all these years," the chieftain snarled, his ire growing exponentially. Lily flinched at his tone, darting a frightened look at the Orc's face. "Seventeen, brother, _seventeen!_ Three still at their mothers' breasts!"

Like Ghorbash, Burguk flared into immediate, violent action. His brother backed away, thrusting an arm out to push Lily into a corner where he could protect her as every small object in the chieftain's bed chamber took flight in his rage.

"Trophies!" Burguk roared, pausing in mid throw of a troll's jawbone he'd taken on a hunt many years before. "They tore out Ghoragdar's _tusks_ for trophies!" Then the jawbone shattered against the wall. The Orc bellowed a furious roar that shook the longhouse.

The front door banged open, and the three chieftain's wives ran into the room. Seeing their husband in such a state made them cringe away, though they didn't leave. Ghorbash's lips curled more than usual as he laid eyes on Shel.

Not as quick as the wives, Murbul came as well. Behind her, Nagrub and Umurn trailed after. Catching sight of his sons, Burguk barked, "Umurn, fetch the miners. _All_ of them. Get their asses down here _now_."

The apprentice smith didn't ask stupid questions. He raced back out the door to carry out his angry father's orders.

"My son, what...," Murbul began, but Burguk held up a peremptory finger.

Lily hugged herself in terrified silence. She understood the importance of this information, fully grasped the depth of insult harboring a fugitive, a _murderer_ , held in Burguk's eyes, but she longed for the peace of this place to return. She was seeing a side of her friends, those who had become a second family, that she had never imagined existed.

Darting a look across the room at Shel, Lily shivered even more. The woman seemed nervous. Perhaps she suspected...

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the miners, filing into the small bed chamber with looks of alarm and fear on their faces.

Oglub was not among them.

"Where is he?" Burguk roared.

"Who?" Umurn asked.

"That son of a bitch, Oglub," the chieftain snarled. "Fetch him _now_. _All_ must be present."

"Couldn't find him, father," Umurn replied, cringing.

"He'll be in the west tunnel," Ghorbash snapped. "I'll bring him." The chieftain's brother stomped out of the longhouse.

"What is going on, Burguk?" Gharol asked as gently as she could. She'd never seen her husband so infuriated, and it frightened her. He did not lose his temper for no reason. Something must have happened. Something terrible.

"Don't you dare!" he suddenly yelled, pointing across the room. Every head turned to see Shel trying to slip out the door. Frozen in terror, she began wringing her hands as she returned to Arob's side.

"Forgive me," she whimpered quietly. "Your anger... frightens me."

Burguk only snorted in answer. Lily flinched, fearing the worst when _Shel's_ betrayal was revealed.

Ghorbash soon returned with Oglub in hand, the nervous miner barely keeping his feet as he was dragged into the longhouse. The chieftain glared at the miner for several long, silent seconds.

"Malacath wept that day," he said tightly, and Oglub's eyes flared wide. "Such dishonor to family. To Orsimer. Taking _coin_ from the _Thalmor_." He spat at the shaking Orc's feet. "Did you think you would not be _discovered_? That none would ever _know_?" Turning to the assembled members of his stronghold, his _kin_ , Burguk's voice thundered. "You look upon Oglub. By _his hand_ , was Bagol destroyed. By _his hand_ , was Chief Ghoragdar murdered. By _his hand_ , were seventeen Orsimeri souls sent to Malacath in dishonor, robbed of glorious death in battle."

"Mauloch's Blood, no!" a voice cried from the back of the stunned crowd, and Ghorza elbowed her way forward. Grabbing Oglub by the arm, she spun him and stared into his face. Disbelief and recognition warred in her countenance, and she shook her head slowly, denying the evidence of her eyes.

"Urzog," she whispered, "is this... true?"

His face crumpled, and he bowed his head. All the guilt he'd harbored these many years for the mistakes of his youth assaulted him at once, and he could not look in the eyes of his sister. Knowing death was near gave him a small sense of relief.

It also made him reckless.

"You are not the first to learn of it," he growled, his voice filling the shocked silence. "My... deeds... were known to another of this hold, and used against me. _Not_ revealed to _you_ , Chief Burguk."

A murmur of confusion rippled through the Orsimer. Lily dared a peek once more at Shel, whose eyes were darting around in a panic. Behind her, though, Ghorbash stood like a wall that could not be moved. There was no escape for the third wife.

"What are you saying?" Burguk snarled.

Holding his head up with as much dignity as he could muster, Urzog's nostrils flared and his teeth ground together as he spoke. "Your _wife_ , Burguk. That bit of baggage that cannot be satisfied with a chieftain's cock sought out _mine_ , threatening to tell you of my crimes if I did not _fuck her_ whenever she demanded it."

Burguk stared open-mouthed at the miner for several moments, then his gaze went swiftly to Shel. She instinctively took a step backwards right into Ghorbash, who grabbed her arms.

Shaking her head vigorously, she tried to laugh disdainfully at the accusation. "Tis a lie, husband. He invents insults to cause you pain."

"No, he does not," Ghorbash's voice rumbled through the room. "I... bore witness. It was when they spoke that I learned of his part in the razing of Bagol."

Shooting an angry look at his brother, Burguk barked, "And you kept this betrayal from me?"

"Only for the moment," Ghorbash replied evenly. "Had you not called forth the hold, I would have told you of it in private. It would seem that vile deeds have a way of finding their own way to your ears."

"How you could stand seating your cock in that putrid cunt, I've no idea," Urzog growled, hoping to make the woman pay as dearly for her crime as he would soon pay for his own. "I always did admire your courage, chieftain."

"Silence!" Burguk roared, and his voice cracked slightly. This was too much. An insult to his hold, followed swiftly by an insult to his _manhood_. "Brother, turn that bit of filth loose. Shel, come here. _Now_."

Ghorbash did as he was bid, and Shel approached her husband cautiously. She'd known him for a year, but at this moment, she did not know him at all.

"Brother," Burguk snarled, "bind him and put him in the cellar. He will await trial. Gahk, Mahk, go to Markarth and hire a coach to take you to Windhelm. From there, seek out Narzulbur. Tell Chief Mauhulakh of this, and bid him come two moons from now. If he cannot, I would have his favored son attend. Then go to Riften, and look for Largashbur. Yamarz may be a worthless bastard, but he is chieftain. Fetch him. I will see to Chief Larak's attendance personally."

Nodding curtly, Ghorbash grabbed Urzog roughly and dragged him out of the longhouse, but not before the desperate Orc called back, "You wished a son, Chief Burguk! She did not care whose she gave you!" Then he disappeared out the door with his jailer.

As the miners appointed with the job of messenger also left to prepare for their long journey, Shel stood rigidly in front of the rest, afraid to look at Burguk. Her eyes scanned the others, and found nothing but disgust and hatred. Dislike she had become accustomed to. This was worse.

"You insult not just my son," Murbul growled, "but Dushnikh Yal. This is a proud hold, that values honor above all else." Turning to the stricken Ghorza, her voice softened. "Good Ghorza, we beg forgiveness for this treachery. Had we known..."

She shook her head. "You did nothing. How _could_ you have known?" Turning to Burguk, Ghorza seemed to have difficulty letting her eyes even pass over Shel without wincing. "Chief Burguk... I believe... my brother would..."

"Yes," he replied gruffly. "I would have you both here as well. If you wish to return to Markarth for a time before we attend to this bit of business, Nagrub may escort you there in safety."

"It is appreciated." Taking a deep breath, she seemed close to tears she had not felt cause to shed in many a year. "I wish... I must..."

Gharol swooped down upon her and embraced the lost woman. "Come. You shall lie down and rest." Steering Ghorza around, she led the unresisting Orc across the longhouse to the sleeping room.

"I shall prepare a soothing draught to help you sleep," Murbul offered, turning to leave.

"Stay a moment," Burguk growled, and his mother stopped. Glaring down at Shel, he curled his lip with disgust. "You sought to soil my hold with a bastard child, thinking such a thing would _please_ me?"

"What other use was I to you?" Shel snapped, finding the same reckless abandon that had fueled Urzog's courage. "You gave me no role in the hold but the warming of your bed and the sating of your lusts. You did not bid me hunt, you did not bid me work metal! If I did not give you a son, as Gharol and Arob had done, I would be of no use whatever!"

"Do not suggest our worth is only in whelping young!" Arob flared up, and Burguk held up a hand to stay her.

"You disdained such tasks," he growled. "If it did not stink of gold, you wanted nothing to do with it. I made _no demand_ upon you to give me a child. That was a path of your own choosing."

"You _used_ me as one does a whore!" she cried. "And I gave you such pleasure, did I not? None compared to _me_."

"No, none did," he retorted. "None would debase themselves as you did. You insulted me, wanting such treatment for _your_ pleasure, though it gave me none."

"Ha!" Shel laughed explosively, eyes wild with madness. "You managed not to recoil with disgust when I 'insulted' you. Begged of me for _more_ , you did! Called me your dirty little wanton and _whipped_ me..."

"Enough!" Burguk roared, humiliation darkening his cheeks. In a towering rage now, not a little of it directed at his own weakness, the chieftain looked at Murbul. His mother lifted her chin imperiously, already reading the coming pronouncement in his eyes.

"Murbul, take this harlot and end her use," he snarled.

"I shall restore the honor of Dushnikh Yal, my son," the wise woman replied.

Shel nearly dissolved in horror. "No... _no_! You cannot do this! I am your _wife!"_

"You are wife no longer!" Burguk bellowed, his voice ringing off the walls. "It is ended _now_. I will take you to your father and throw you at his feet. Thank Lily's presence here that I do not call down ancient judgment upon you as well."

Stricken speechless by the veiled threat, Shel could only plead with her eyes, for Burguk's ears no longer heard her entreaties. Murbul took her arm and pulled the stricken woman toward the door. Arob took the other arm and joined them.

As they crossed the dining area, Ghorbash returned and glared down at the former third wife. He didn't have to ask to know her fate. Shel saw in him the ruination of her entire world, and spat at his feet. No longer constrained by her position as chieftain's wife, he back-handed her across the face, making her go limp in Murbul and Arob's hands. They dragged the senseless woman out to Murbul's hut.

"Leave us," Burguk growled quietly, and his sons departed, unsure what else to do. The only remaining miner, Dulug, also left awkwardly.

When Ghorbash entered the chieftain's bed chamber once more, Lily nearly collapsed in his arms. Throughout the terrible ordeal, she had expected mention of her part in the discovery to be revealed. The high tension and anger in the room frightened her so, she feared one or the other of them would break free of their bonds and slay her in the night.

"I should not have taken her in the first place," Burguk said, then slowly sat upon his bed and rubbed his face. "Am I truly too old, brother? Has my strength left me? Can I... no longer... father children?"

Ghorbash gently released Lily and approached the chieftain. Dropping a heavy hand on Burguk's shoulder, he said, "I do not think that is the measure of a man. You have strong sons, and a strong daughter. You need prove nothing. Remove the blight from your hold, and you will be strong again."

The chieftain grunted a bitter laugh. "It will take more than that, brother."

Suddenly, the distant sound of a shriek of pain tore through the silence, and Lily started with alarm. Neither Orc seemed particularly affected.

"What was that?" she asked in a small voice.

"She is being punished for her treachery," Burguk said hollowly. "She will no longer be of any use to her father as chattel for bargaining."

Lily darted a confused look between the two, and Ghorbash said in a low voice, "Murbul removes her womb."

The Nord covered her mouth in horror.


	19. Blood Price

Numb with shock, Lily did not protest when Ghorbash steered her out of Burguk's bedchamber and guided her to the sleeping room.

"You should lie down," he murmured. "This has been... a disturbing day."

She had no words for him, no thoughts but what was being done to Shel at this moment. Were such measures truly necessary? Lily thought that having one's maidenhead stolen by men was horrifying enough, but to lose one's womanhood?

Ghorbash nearly took her to her own bed, but Gharol was sitting on it as she spoke soothing words in a low voice to the distraught Ghorza. To be face-to-face with a brother thought dead in the same moment as learning of his treachery was a terrible blow to endure.

"Come," he said, "you may lie in my bed."

Shaking herself, she looked up into Ghorbash's face. "Tell me, Ghorbash," she said quietly, "that this was necessary. That... it was... justified."

His brow furrowed and he could not look at her. "There are... laws. Very old laws. One is Blood Price. The... one injured may declare it at his discretion, and the one who has done harm must pay." Sighing, he continued, "Matters of honor... are dealt with according to... other laws in addition to Blood Price. A woman who has been... unfaithful... who has broken sacred vows... she is disavowed. Sent back to her family in shame. This is the way it has always been."

"But... Burguk ordered...," Lily said hesitantly. Ghorbash urged her to sit on his bed. He sat on Nagrub's bed across from her and took her hands in his. They seemed so pale and small.

"Burguk is chieftain," he said patiently. "His position is greater than any, for he leads and commands. His sons will one day challenge him for leadership of the stronghold. They must be strong, and their claim must be unquestioned." He searched her eyes, looking for some sign that she understood. "The honor of the stronghold is most important. Without honor, we... we have nothing to protect. By breaking her sacred vows to Burguk, by hiding the identity of one who had committed the worst possible betrayal, costing the lives of his own kin... _ma'_ Lily, _please_ understand... she _lay_ with the betrayer. She _protected_ him in exchange for his... complicity in her own betrayal."

Ghorbash took a deep breath and shook his head, momentarily at a loss for words. "This was more than an insult to Burguk alone. Her deeds stained the honor of Dushnikh Yal itself. To those who treat with us honorably, with integrity and truth, we are welcoming. We embrace them as brothers and sisters. Betray our trust, and the laws are clear on what may be done to amend such an offense."

"But... her _womb_ , Ghorbash," Lily whispered. "How will she survive?"

Swallowing uncomfortably, the Orc said, "She may not. But Murbul knows her business."

"Has this been done... before?"

He shook his head. "Not in my lifetime. But neither has the chieftain taken a wife from Mor Khazgur before. Their ways are... different. _ma'_ Lily, there are worse things that might have been done. We... the Orsimer people... have not always been... ancient laws were far more brutal. She is fortunate that few uphold such barbaric practices."

"What... what might have been done to her?" Lily whispered.

"That I will not tell you," he said firmly. "Now lie down and rest."

As he rose, she clutched his hand tightly. "Please," she breathed, her eyes wide. "Do not leave me here. What if... I fear they will learn that it was _I_... _please_..."

Sitting back down, he reached out and cupped her wan cheek in his hand. "You are, as you have ever been, safe here, _ma'_ Lily. None will harm you. Shel does not know anything but that I am the one who destroyed her. Oglub has no reason to suspect your involvement in his discovery, either. _I_ fear neither of them." Offering her a slight smile, he said, "Shel will be unable to walk for several days, I expect, and Oglub is bound in chains in the cellar. I made sure of that myself. Once Shel is able, Burguk will deliver her to Chief Larak. _You_ need not fear them."

Still, she silently entreated him, and he relented. "I will stay, if that is your wish."

"I wish not to be parted from you," she murmured, bowing her head. "Ghorbash, I understand vengeance better than you may think. I do not want... any harm to come to _you_ , either."

"None shall," he chuckled softly. "I was in the Legion, remember. Withered Orcs and fallen women are no match for me."

"You think me foolish," she said.

"Not at all," he assured her. "It warms my heart that you worry for me, as much as your wish for my protection does. You have my arm as well as my heart, _ma'_ Lily." Taking her hand, he lightly kissed her knuckles.

"I would have you... here," she said nervously, and scooted back against the wall. "Where I can... feel you near. So I will know I... _you_ are safe."

"You wish me to... lie next to you?" he asked unsteadily, his voice shaking as it had not done since he was a young boy.

"Yes," she said shyly, unable to look at him. "Just... until I am asleep. I understand if you... have other duties and must go..."

"I will not move an inch from your side," he said gruffly, trying to master himself. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he shifted over to sit on his own bed, turning as he lay down so that he faced Lily. She lowered herself slowly, cautiously, into his arms, keeping her own up so that her palms pressed against his chest. He adjusted the pillow beneath their heads as they settled in together.

Holding her so close, in the one place he dreamed of being with her every single night...

"I do not wish to... frighten you," Ghorbash said awkwardly, "but... my... there are some... things... I have no control over."

"What do you mean?" she said, forcing herself to look into his mismatched eyes.

Grinding his jaw in frustration, he whispered, "Forgive me."

"What have you done?" she asked, growing concerned.

"My... body... does not listen to reason," he said uncomfortably. "I know you do not wish... I am sorry."

Lily stared at him, uncomprehending for several moments, then realized his manhood had stiffened and was pressing against her abdomen. Had she lain in Phane's embrace, felt the intrusion of his lust so often that she didn't even notice the same arousal in Ghorbash?

Except... it _wasn't_ the same.

"I am not frightened," she said softly, the realization surprising to her. " _You_ do not frighten me. Nor does your... love."

He sighed with relief. Drawing a finger down her cheek, he gently tilted her face up. " _ma'_ Lily," he breathed, and pressed his forehead to hers. "Beloved."

Finding no resistance and no retreat, Ghorbash's restraint faltered, and his mouth sought hers. _Just a taste_ , he told himself. _Nothing more._

But the smallest morsel will often lead to a gluttonous feast, he realized as he felt himself delving deeper. Though her arms remained between them, her lips seemed to savor his kiss hungrily.

"Ghorbash," she whispered as his mouth moved down to her neck. She clutched the front of his shirt desperately. His warm breath on her skin sent shivers down her spine and waves of longing through her body.

Kissing had never been part of her defilement, and so did not terrify her now. She knew, though, as his hand stroked down her back to cup her buttocks, that this would not end with kissing. For a moment, she tensed. Giving herself to him now seemed wrong, after such a day and such... revelations. Yet he seemed to be holding himself in check, testing her reactions. If she resisted, what would he do?

"No, Ghorbash," she murmured, and he immediately halted. Pulling back, he looked into her eyes, his breathing unsteady.

"Forgive me, _ma'_ Lily," he begged. "I do not mean to frighten you."

"I am not frightened," Lily replied. "I just... do not want to... Not yet."

He nodded. "I have desired you for so long. Perhaps I am weaker than I thought," he said, chuckling with embarrassment. Drawing back from her a few inches, he even removed his hand from her body and rested it on his own.

There had never been a time since her soiling that she held such power over what was done to her.

Shaking her head, she pressed close to him once more. "No, you are not weak. Were you so, no entreaty of mine would have stopped you."


	20. Memories and Misunderstandings

Lily slept in Ghorbash's arms, comforted by his embrace. Sometimes she woke disoriented, and went utterly still. Jolting awake could easily waken Phane, for which punishment would swiftly follow. Yet by feel and by sound, she knew the body beside her was Ghorbash's, and she relaxed enough to drift asleep again. So the night passed quietly.

Upon morning's dawning, they woke nearly at the same time, and his smile to her was gentle.

" _ma'_ Lily," he murmured, brushing a stray hair from her temple. "No dream is as welcome as you."

"I feel safe with you, Ghorbash," she whispered. "Even in such a place as your bed."

His chest swelled with happiness. "I can think of no place you are _more_ welcome," he growled thickly, and kissed her. It was difficult to contain his desire, for his blood burned. " _ma'_ Lily," he murmured again, tightening his hold. His hand found her buttocks, and he clutched her firmly as he pressed his body into hers.

Feeling her stiffen, he reminded himself that his passions must remain in check. It was too soon; she must learn to trust him, but if he did not control himself, she never would. "Forgive me," he murmured, releasing her.

"You light a fire within me," Lily said breathlessly, looking up at him with a slight smile. "It is _that_ I fear, not you."

"I would fan such flames," he grinned, pressing his forehead to hers. "They are not to be feared."

Caressing his cheek with a trembling hand, Lily whispered, "I want... to welcome it. I tell myself that I am no longer in that... that tower, yet..." Frustrated, she clenched her fist and lightly thumped his chest. "I do not see _their_ faces when I look upon you. I do not see _them_ when I am among _anyone_ here. Yet when I... when I feel... when I _need_... I am afraid... As if such thoughts and feelings are wrong."

"Hush," Ghorbash soothed, stroking her hair and kissing her brow. "They are not wrong. When you are strong enough, you will no longer fear. You begin to understand the truth of these matters. You have only just learned they were lies the Forsworn taught. When we give of ourselves to one we love, we receive... so much in return." His voice trembled. "I will give you... all that I am, all that I _have_... and expect nothing." Lifting her chin to look in her eyes, he smiled. "By giving, I shall be rewarded beyond my dreams."

"I want... to give you... the same," she said slowly, searching his eyes as much as her own heart. "I have not wanted to... let myself remember it, but..." Biting her lip, she squeezed her eyes shut. "Ghorbash, I... I thought of you. Thoughts of you... helped me to... to endure..."

Shame assailed her, and she bowed her head. "At first, I recalled you as a man gloating over my misfortune, my foolishness. Then I longed for your strength. I wished each night that you would... somehow... know how much I needed you to come for me. Then... when I knew I must... accept Phane... or lose all hope of escape, I... let him... do things... and... imagined you there."

Ghorbash let out the breath he didn't know he was holding and stared at her. He couldn't seem to regain his breath. He didn't know how to react, and just lay there in shock.

After a few moments, Lily raised her eyes to his. Seeing his stricken face, she winced and looked away. "I do not blame you. It was... a foul thing..."

Shaking himself, Ghorbash said, "What... I... " Swallowing hard, he said, "I did not know that when I touch you... I am _him_ , in your mind."

Lily shook her head vigorously. "No, you are not! I do not mistake you for _him_. I meant... I looked to you for strength, for comfort..."

"It is no wonder you retreat from me," Ghorbash lamented. "You may desire me... perhaps grow to... to love me, but... when you close your eyes and I touch you... when I... make love with you, will you know it is me? Will you be receiving _my_ love? Or will your memories put _him_ in my place, and so... you will think... even for a _moment_... that... that I am... raping you?"

Flinching, Lily looked away. She hadn't thought of what she'd done in the way he suggested, and whispered, "I do not know."

"I am not angry with you, _ma'_ Lily," he whispered, holding her close. "There is much we need to do, to heal you. I wish that I could... scrub away the stain they left behind. Slay the demons they put inside your heart and your mind. You made them pay blood price for their deeds, but... I do not think they bled enough."

* * *

Burguk stood stunned outside the long house when Ghorbash and Lily emerged. He didn't seem able to look at them, and didn't acknowledge their presence. Murbul, weary from a long night's vigil over Shel's recovery, patiently awaited her son's response.

"Is this news meant to please me?" Burguk finally growled, glaring at Murbul.

The pained look on the chieftain's face urged Ghorbash to ask, "What has happened?" Lily reached for his hand and held on, wondering what new horrors had come in the night.

"Shel... was afflicted with a growth," Murbul explained with a sigh. "Left alone, such a thing would have surely killed her, and I believe it prevented... issue."

"Then... it was a mercy," Lily whispered with relief. "A blessing of Talos. Malacath's code is... satisfied, and she is spared a grievous death." Her eyes darted from one Orsimer to another, hoping she did not offend.

Snorting reluctant concession, Burguk jerked his head toward the forge. "Gharol wishes to finish the sword. She requires your assistance."

Startled, Lily released Ghorbash's hand and said, "Oh. I... I would be honored." Unsure what else to do, she dropped a curtsey to Burguk, then headed up the hill.

Ghorbash chuckled at his brother's discomfiture. "That is a gesture of respect," he explained.

"Nord foolishness," Burguk growled under his breath, yet struggled to hide a flattered smile.

Sobering, Ghorbash said, "You know what this means. About Shel."

"What does it mean?" the chieftain grumbled.

"She was barren," his brother explained. "The fault was not yours."

"Very true," Murbul agreed, then smiled cheekily. "I would venture to guess that, because your wives have sought so _diligently_ to comfort you in your time of need, we shall soon see a _swelling_ of pride in this stronghold."

Chuckling in spite of himself, Burguk ducked his head and grinned.

Taking her leave, Murbul returned to her hut and her patient. Ghorbash lightly punched his brother's shoulder. "A child in the hold again. _That_ will make you feel young once more."

Furrowing his brow thoughtfully, Burguk looked at his brother. "I want you to deliver the sword to Lash, and take Lily with you."

Ghorbash started with surprise. "You will not do it?"

Shaking his head, Burguk replied, "I cannot. It must be done soon, and I must deliver Shel to her father. I trust you will do me the honor." In truth, he did not think he possessed the strength needed to face his own daughter, not after such harsh words as they had exchanged. He hoped the sword would say all that needed to be said.

"If that is your wish," Ghorbash nodded. "Why do you want me to bring Lily?"

"I saw you lying with her," Burguk said quietly, a ghost of a smile on his face. "A little more time together would not be amiss."

"Agreed," Ghorbash replied. "It would not be amiss. There is much we must talk about. Her trust in me builds, but... there are... worrisome obstacles beyond even _my_ imagining." He wondered if he should tell his brother, one so much wiser than he in matters of a woman's heart. There had never been a time when he did not confide in Burguk, though. Perhaps this latest revelation was something understood to the chieftain.

"She... told me something... disturbing," Ghorbash began, his voice pitched low. Burguk frowned and leaned closer to hear. "She said... while she was being abused... there was a time near the end when she... pretended compliance. She was planning her escape."

Straightening, Burguk nodded. "She is a hunter. The predator lies in wait for the prey. This I understand." But it seemed his brother wasn't finished. "Is there more?"

Looking away, Ghorbash muttered, "She... protected her mind from such... abuse by... thoughts of _me_." Wincing, he looked away. The admission was far more painful than he'd thought it would be.

Taking a deep breath, Burguk slowly let it out in a low whistle. "That is... a difficult matter. You fear she will think you are _they_ when..." Ghorbash nodded quickly. "I see. Brother, I do not think you have _very_ much to worry about."

Ghorbash looked up skeptically. "What makes you say that?"

"Well," Burguk shrugged, "how came she to your bed?"

"She... she asked it of me," he replied with a shrug.

"Is that all she asked?"

"Yes," Ghorbash nodded. "She is not strong enough for anything more."

The longer Burguk looked at him, the more uncomfortable Ghorbash became, until his cheeks darkened as they had not done since he was much younger. The chieftain smiled.

"Yet more was shared, I see," he said quietly. "Are you strong enough to deny it?"

"I have to be," Ghorbash sighed. "She must find her own strength first. She must see me as friend and trust me before..."

Burguk shook his head and chuckled. "Brother, you are wise in many things, but in this you are not. Lily went to your bed. She lay in your arms. By your youthful blushes, more intimacies were shared. The woman has suffered, it is true, but she heals. She is becoming strong enough to look me in the eyes, to walk unescorted to the forge, and to lie abed with _you_. Do not coddle her so!"

"But... what she had to think of...," Ghorbash protested, only to be cut off by a good-natured blow to the arm.

"In the past," Burguk said dismissively. "You dishonor her and undermine her healing by dwelling on such things. She did what she had to do. It is _past_."

"But...," Ghorbash tried again, and received a growling bark from his brother.

"If you make a mountain of it, she will as well," Burguk snarled. "If you let it shame you, it will shame _her_. Let it go. Forget it. You are not a Forsworn dog. You are Ghorbash the Iron Hand. You are Orsimer. You do not prey on innocents, and you do not rape." Curling his lip, he added, "You would be no brother of mine if you did."

Taking a deep breath, Ghorbash nodded. "You are wise, brother."

"Hmph," Burguk snorted. "You have indeed become a man grown if you acknowledge such truths without me bashing your head in."

Arching his brow, Ghorbash grunted a brief laugh. "You are only now seeing it?"

"You were with the Legion for many years," Burguk shrugged. "These last few at Dushnikh Yal, you have not asked my advice until this moment. Forgive my worry that you had not changed."

"Much has changed," Ghorbash conceded, then pointed at Burguk. "Including you. The chieftain _I_ knew would not even consider groveling for his daughter's forgiveness."

Growling without heat, Burguk grumped, "I did not think I could ever be wrong, either. I had learned to listen to a woman's heart, yet forgot my daughter had one." Grinning, he added, "You have only begun to listen. Do not ignore its call, and try always to honor its entreaties."

Ghorbash nodded. "I will try. Perhaps the trip to Karthwasten will prove... interesting."

"I am certain it will," Burguk agreed.

* * *

Frowning as she worked the bellows, Lily wondered what she had done wrong. It hadn't _seemed_ wrong at the time, yet Ghorbash was clearly offended by her thinking of _him_ as an escape from her plight. She found her eyes continuously going to Gharol, carefully heating the nearly completed blade, pounding it just so with the hammer, cooling it in a bucket of water...

The Forge-Wife was a wise woman, Lily knew. What was more, she was Lily's elder, and likely well versed in what drove men's hearts. Perhaps _she_ could shed light on the matter.

"Gharol," Lily ventured timidly. She worried that distracting the woman from her work might do irreparable harm to the sword.

"Yes?" Gharol replied, glancing up from her work but otherwise continuing unabated. Encouraged, Lily took a deep breath.

"I have done something... to offend Ghorbash," she said carefully. "I do not know what I may do to mend things with him."

Startled, Gharol stopped hammering the blade and stared at Lily. "You have... offended him? What could you have done?"

Brow pinching worriedly, Lily said, "I told him that I thought of him while I was... during that time. I confess, I told Ghorza of it, but... when I did, I was saddened, and said it was no comfort. But it was. Gharol, thinking of him gave me the strength to endure. Remembering his smile... I could live another day. I have only lately come to realize that these feelings I... I have had for him... all this time... were not wrong. That they would not... hurt me. That _he_ would not hurt me."

Relief washed over Gharol, and she gathered Lily in her arms. "I cannot imagine that such words would offend him. I think you have truly begun to heal, Lily, and my heart is glad."

"I did not get a chance to say these things," Lily said, pulling back to look into Gharol's eyes. "I think... he believes... my thoughts of him were dishonorable."

"Sit," Gharol said firmly, and led Lily to the rocks by the forge. "Tell me what was said."

Drawing another deep breath, Lily told the Forge-wife her words, and Ghorbash's reaction. "I wanted to tell him... _what_ I thought about, but he seemed so certain that..."

Gharol rolled her eyes and shook her head. "He is a man; they often make up their minds on a thing and little can be done to dissuade them. What did you imagine, when you were... in need of his strength? What thoughts of him kept you going?"

Forcing herself to focus not on the Forsworn's vile acts upon her body but the sheltered place in her mind, she said slowly, "I thought of him... as a companion. I could reach for him... when what was being done... was too foul to..." She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and shuddered. Recovering herself, she continued, "His was a hand in the darkness, something... kind... I could cling to."

"Why ever would he think such a thing was offensive?" Gharol whispered incredulously.

"Perhaps...," Lily suggested, remembering his words, "he thought I meant that... I imagined... _he_ was..." Grimacing, she could not complete the statement. "Surely he did not think such a thing..."

"What did he say, exactly?" Gharol pressed.

"He wonders if I will think of Phane when he touches me," Lily said, blanching. "He fears that is why I have... resisted him... but it is _not_! Gharol, I think I... I might... No, not _might_ ; I am _sure_ of it..." Gathering herself, she grasped the Orsimer woman's hands and whispered, "I love him."

Gharol's face split in a radiant smile. "Oh, Lily! That is wonderful! We so hoped you would find relief here! It seems you have found something more!" Embracing the Nord woman fiercely, Gharol said, "He is a good man. Perhaps a fool at times, as he apparently is now, but good."

Lily found it difficult to catch her breath. Such a weighty confession packaged in so few words, left her breathless. Yet she was troubled, and drew back from Gharol to look at her with furrowed brow. "He believes I imagined _him_ doing terrible things to me. How may I convince him otherwise?"

Snorting, Gharol growled, "He cannot be an insufferable idiot for long. Make him listen. Tell him he must shut his ever-working mouth so you may inform him _properly_ of how he helped you survive. Perhaps it will give _him_ peace, for he suffered so while you were gone. He spoke of little but you – how does she fare? Has she found trouble? Does she need me? How may I give her aid? - on and on."

A smile teased the corners of Lily's mouth. "It is hard to believe he was so..."

"Annoying?" Gharol offered with laugh. "He was that, I assure you." Then she sobered. "He loves you. He has likely loved you from the moment you came to us."

"Perhaps I knew of it, somewhere deep," Lily said thoughtfully. "It was natural to think of him, above all others. I did not even think of my father."

"You have no reason to feel shame for _anything_ you did in that tower," Gharol said firmly. "It was a matter of survival. If thinking of Ghorbash gave you the strength you needed, he should be _proud_."


	21. In Defiance of Memory

"It is done," Gharol sighed as she examined the sword with a keen eye. "All that I want to say may be read. I hope..." She took a deep breath and shook herself. Turning to Lily, she said, "Would you do something for me?"

"Anything," Lily eagerly replied. Her face was streaked with grime from the forge, and wet with sweat. They'd worked hard most of the day to put the finishing touches on the blade, pausing only briefly for a meal at mid-day.

"Chief Burguk has asked his brother to deliver this sword to our daughter," Gharol said evenly. "I... begged leave to do it myself, but he refused. In another day, he must take Shel to her father. He does not want me or Arob to venture beyond the walls of Dushnikh Yal without just cause. Arob may hunt in the company of her son, but a journey of this length..." She shook her head. "There should be enough here to defend the walls." A slight smile curved her mouth around her small tusks. "And he wishes me at his side when he returns."

"What do you need me to do?" Lily asked.

"He has suggested that you accompany Ghorbash," Gharol said frankly. "It is a journey that I believe will benefit you both. I agree with him. Will you do this for me? For us?"

Lily stiffened, and her eyes widened. "Leave Dushnikh Yal?" Her eyes darted to the tall wooden walls and the thick gates.

Gharol took hold of the younger woman's hand. "I believe you are ready," she said gently. "You left the safety of these walls and hunted at Ghorbash's side for a day, then you returned. I believe you may do so again, for even longer. If you find your courage in venturing forth, perhaps the stronghold will not seem like a prison." She smiled at Lily's incredulous expression. "Embrace your freedom, Lily. We do not hold you back, and _they_ cannot hinder you any longer."

Lily took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her day of hunting with Ghorbash had been liberating, she now realized; perhaps if she spent too long cowering behind the walls of Dushnikh Yal, the stronghold _would_ become like a prison in time. Perhaps Gharol was right.

And Ghorbash would be at her side. That alone gave her the strength to nod agreement.

"Yes," she said, growing a little more confident. "I will accompany him. I would be _proud_ to. And... perhaps it is what I need."

Gharol nodded. "Your fears will remain a burden until you face them, but you needn't face them alone. You are Blood Kin; Dushnikh Yal stands behind you." Smiling, she added, "But perhaps more meaningful to _you_ is that you have Ghorbash's love. He will see that no harm comes to you."

Lily felt a strange giddiness in hearing Gharol's words, and grinned broadly. But just as quickly, her expression grew troubled. "I still... fear... being with him. Lying with him. What it... would feel like. If it would be different. And... what the folk here would think of me for... doing so."

Shaking her head, Gharol cupped Lily's cheek in her calloused, forge-worn hand. "Let no memories of your past plague your mind. It is _past_. It is over and done with. Cast into Oblivion any worries of condemnation for what you and Ghorbash feel for one another as well. If you desire him, none will disdain your pursuit."

"My mother would not agree," Lily sighed bitterly. "She would say... that I must save my 'treasure' for an important man," she murmured, tracing her fingers along the stonework of the forge. "One she selected, of course. One that was important enough to suit her. And whose influence would benefit her. She felt that my virginity was of great importance. Without it, I was... of no value. Not to a man, and not to her."

Gharol curled her lip with disgust. "Such things do not concern the Orsimer. They are unknown to Khajiiti. Foreign to the Argonians. Only humans and the other _mer_ place any importance on taking first possession of a woman. _We_ see a woman's body as being her _own_ possession. You may share it with whom you like. Or whom you love. It is _yours_ ; it belongs to no one else."

Glancing up at Gharol, she asked quietly, "My treasure was taken. What have I left?"

Shaking her head, Gharol replied, "That is not the treasure. It is a bit of skin; that is all. The treasure you hold dear is your affection, your love, your heart and soul. These have far more value, and they are _yours_ to give."

"But... what of my body?" Lily asked, arching her brow. "Is that not as important?"

"Not nearly," Gharol shrugged. "If you love, you may wish to invite your lover to partake. If you merely feel affection, you may do the same. It is _your choice_. Do what pleases you. If it would please you to lie with Ghorbash, you may do so. _When you are ready_."

Lily nodded slowly, her brow furrowed in thought. "I must face my fears," she mused half to herself. "That is one."

"When you are _ready_ ," Gharol repeated pointedly.

"Yes," Lily agreed. "When I am ready."

* * *

After the evening meal, which was a quiet affair with so few present, Ghorza approached Lily in the sleeping room.

"Burguk told me if I wished to return home, I may accompany you and Ghorbash tomorrow," she said. "I have decided to do this, if it is all right with you."

"Of course it is!" Lily cried, clasping her friend's hands. "Why ever wouldn't it?"

"Well," Ghorza said, a slight smile on her face, "I have seen how things have been changing with Ghorbash. I do not want to interfere."

"Oh goodness," Lily blushed, waving dismissively. Yet she smiled and ducked her head.

"I have not seen that look upon you in many months," Ghorza grinned. "Not since you dove into my forge to hide from your mother so she wouldn't know you'd snuck behind the temple with... what was his name? Ulfhelm?"

Scandalized yet amused, Lily shushed the Orc. Ghorbash's rather flippant description of the boy who'd given her a first kiss – _wandering hands and poor skill_ – suddenly came to mind, and she giggled.

"That is good to hear," Ghorza remarked. "I believe I can leave you here with a clear conscience now. You have found a good home among my people."

"Indeed I have," Lily sighed. Her smile faded slightly. "Ghorza, I am so sorry about your home. Your family."

Nodding solemnly, Ghorza said, "I am... numb. Murbul's potions, no doubt." Chuckling humorlessly, she continued, "I do not want to tell Moth, nor do I want to come back and witness... but I must do both. Perhaps in two months, I may regain my strength and be able to face Urzog. Just now, I do not think I can."

Ghorbash entered the sleeping room then, and approached the women. "How fare you, Ghorza?" he asked.

"Well enough," she replied. "Have you... did you...?"

He nodded. "I've just been to bring him something to eat."

"Did he say anything?"

Sighing, Ghorbash said, "He wanted me to tell you that he regrets what he did. He does not expect you to be moved by that; he merely wanted you to know."

Ghorza nodded. "I am... glad of that. Thank you." Her expression sad, she turned away and lay down in her bed.

"I wish there was something I could do," Lily lamented quietly. Ghorbash reached up to touch her shoulder, then changed his mind and let his arm fall to his side.

"We will take her home," he said. "Her more honorable brother will be a comfort to her."

Lily pursed her lips to hide her grin. "Moth is such a tease. I never knew that about him until I went to their house."

"Yes, I imagine he is," Ghorbash laughed, recalling some of the smith's comments. Lily's smile was infectious, and he felt his grim expression softening. "We should get some sleep," he said, growing serious. "Tomorrow will be a long day. Are you certain...?"

"I am," Lily replied with conviction. "It is time I went out in the world again. I should not let the deeds of a few... dead men force me into hiding." She suppressed a shudder, then lifted her chin a little higher. "I am stronger than that."

A slow smile curved Ghorbash's mouth. "That you are, _ma'_ Lily _._ And you will have me beside you."

"May I share your bed again?" she asked boldly.

Stammering like a youth, Ghorbash replied, "Y-yes, of course. Whatever you wish." He was quite taken aback, and very pleased. It would seem that his brother's assessment was right; Lily was recovering faster than he gave her credit. He was beginning to see some of what she was when she left the stronghold, before the Forsworn hurt her.

Ghorbash's grin was likely foolish as he led the way to the corner where his bed stood. Nagrub had already gone to sleep in the bed next to Ghorbash's; he'd had watch the night before, and was quick to take advantage of rest.

"How do you usually sleep, Ghorbash?" Lily asked softly so not to disturb Nagrub.

Startled, he shrugged. "I am not sure what you mean."

"Were I not here, would you wear clothing?" she clarified. The Orsimer wasn't quite sure what was behind her question, or if the odd tone of her voice was a warning.

"No," he finally answered.

"I... do not wish to... cause you discomfort," she said, and now she began to falter. It seemed that her earlier resolve could not weather what she was offering now. "If you want to... I..."

" _ma_ 'Lily," he breathed, cupping her cheek, "you are not ready for that."

Closing her eyes and bowing her head, she said, "I wish to _be_ ready. I am frustrated, Ghorbash. I am surrounded by friends who care about me. Who want nothing more than to see me whole again." She looked up at him. "A man who has promised friendship and offered his love. I feel such a fool. And so ungrateful."

"If I am... unclothed beside you," he said in a low voice, "will you wake in the night and know it is me?"

Huffing with impatience, Lily decided now was the time to set Ghorbash straight. "Yes I will," she said firmly. "My thoughts of you were not..."

"I know you did what you had to...," he interrupted, and Lily's eyes flashed.

" _Let me speak_ ," she hissed, and Ghorbash was so startled his mouth shut tight. "Gharol was right; your mouth _does_ work endlessly. Now you listen to me." She poked his chest with her forefinger. "My thoughts of you gave me strength. When the men were... when they... I thought of you holding my hand so that I could endure it. When I lay in the darkness waiting for the next one to come, I thought of you embracing me so that I did not feel so cold and alone. And when I despaired, thoughts of you strengthened my will to rise again, and live another day." Giving him a hurt look, she added, "I never put your face on Phane's, or _any_ of them, not even for a moment. I... did not want to dishonor you."

Ghorbash's shoulders sagged. "I am sorry, _ma'_ Lily," he said, ashamed. "If I could have been there..." He winced, then forced himself to look at her. "I am _honored_ that... at least in some way, I was able to help you." Resting his hands on her waist, he leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers. "I love you, _ma'_ Lily."

"And I love you," she whispered. "But you _really_ must listen."

Her words electrified him, and he almost missed her admonishment. " _ma'_ Lily,' he murmured fiercely, encircling her body with his arms and pulling her close. "I've longed to hear those words from you."

Before she could respond, his mouth was on hers, and she clung to the front of his shirt with both hands for balance. Her senses were overwhelmed; the world seemed to tilt and turn upside down. Then she realized he had lowered her onto his bed, and he was atop her. Lily stiffened and whimpered against his mouth, but forced herself not to protest. She expected his knee to part her legs, his hand to push up her skirt. She tensed, but he did neither. As though swimming to the surface of a deep pool, Ghorbash gradually withdrew, gasping for breath.

" _ma'_ Lily," he breathed, "forgive me. I nearly lost myself."

She needed to catch her breath as well. When she could speak, she whispered, "You do not frighten me."

Chuckling, he shifted to lie beside her and rubbed his face with one hand. "I frighten myself, sometimes." Looking at her, he added, "It is a burden I must bear as well."

"What burden?" Lily asked.

"What was done to you," he said frankly. "I fear letting my passions engulf you as much as you do."

"I do not fear your passion," she insisted, though her brow furrowed with uncertainty. Ghorbash smiled wryly.

"An Orsimer is often... rough when he mates," he explained delicately. "We can be otherwise, but..." Shrugging, he said, "When I am with you, _ma'_ Lily, I have such a strong need..." He shook his head sharply. "You should not hear this. I apologize for even beginning..."

"No, tell me," Lily insisted. "Keep nothing from me, Ghorbash. Not your love or your thoughts. _Tell me_."

Wincing in anticipation of her reaction, he looked away. "I... want you. I _need_ you. Not just... this way. Thoughts of having you plague me. I want to... to be... _inside_ you." He grimaced, ashamed of his lust and knowing it was a horror for her still. "It seems that... the more I love you, the more desperately I need to make love with you. And I love you more each day." Chuckling mirthlessly, he added, "So it is more difficult each day to hold myself in check."

"You... want...," she said haltingly. Swallowing, she continued in a quiet voice, "When I am with you, I feel safe. But that is not all I feel." A slight smile curved her lips. "You say you wish to be inside me. _I want that, too_. I have learned from the folk of Dushnikh Yal that a man's body is not always a weapon used against me, and that my body is not a vessel for another's use. All have told me the things I feel are not shameful. What I desire is natural. What happened before... was not my doing, and I should feel no shame for it."

"You shouldn't," Ghorbash agreed firmly. He took up her hand and kissed her knuckles. "I do not think of you... as a vessel. It is not simply... Yes, I want you. But not... It is more than that." Growling low with frustration, he said, "My words are my undoing, always."

"I think I understand," Lily said, her face smoothing with realization. "You cannot even speak of what happened to me, can you?"

"I do not want to cause you more pain by reminding you of it," he muttered.

"Yet you _do_ ," she said. "Ghorbash, when you reach for me and falter; when you embrace me, kiss me, touch me, then hold yourself back, you remind me. I had come to believe you could not continue because... you thought of me as soiled."

Shocked, he vigorously shook his head. "No! That is not what I think! I... I am...," he stammered, then sighed heavily. "I am afraid. You were badly abused, _ma'_ Lily. They... used something against you that... I fear that when I approach you, you will think I do the same. Not because you mistake me for Phane," he quickly added when her brow furrowed, "but because... you think what I do is... similar."

"But it is not," she said gently. "I know it is not. Truly, it has been told to me many times here. By you, by Gharol, by Ghorza... Sooner or later, I was bound to believe it." She smiled a little. "I think... it is almost as though I am a virgin once more, for I have never been loved by a man." Gazing into his mismatched eyes, she whispered, "I want to be loved by _you_ , Ghorbash."

" _ma'_ Lily," he murmured, leaning forward and kissing her. His arms encircled her and held her close. For the first time, her arm slipped from between them and embraced him. She ran her hand over the taut muscles of his back and even ventured to his waist. His loose linen clothing was thin, and the shirt was not tucked into his trousers. Lily found her hand wandering, seeking contact with his skin beneath the shirt. As if by long habit, she halted and stiffened when she felt his hand at her knee clutching her skirts and inching them up.

She trembled but made no protest. _I will face my fear_ , she told herself fiercely. _He means me no harm. There is no shame in wanting this. It is_ _ **not the same**_ **.**

Yet when his hand passed over the scars on her thigh, the tally marks made by Phane, she flinched so strongly the spell was broken. She pulled away from Ghorbash and sat up, hugging her middle as though she would be ill. She yanked the skirt back down, hiding the marks from view.

"I am sorry, _ma'_ Lily," Ghorbash said huskily, drawing deep breaths to calm himself. She shook her head.

"No, it is I who am sorry," she breathed. "I wanted to be ready for this. I _wanted_ it! I want _you_."

He wrapped his arms around her, urging her to lean back against him. "You have me. You will _always_ have me. Perhaps tomorrow. If not then, another day. I am not going anywhere, _ma'_ Lily."

Sagging with resignation, Lily nodded. "You are a patient man, Ghorbash."

Chuckling, he kissed her shoulder. "I wish my commanding officer from the Legion could hear you. Many call me 'the Iron Hand,' but he called me 'the Hasty Skeever.'"

A laugh snuck out of her, and she hastily covered her mouth. Nagrub grunted in his sleep and shifted positions. Relieved not to have disturbed the other Orc, Lily relaxed in Ghorbash's arms, a smile on her face.

* * *

As the sun rose on Dushnikh Yal, Burguk watched the trio depart through the north gate. Arob stood vigil on the wall, her bow unslung and an arrow nocked. Her keen eyes scanned the lands to either side of the road Ghorbash, Lily and Ghorza travelled.

"When will Shel be fit to travel?" the chieftain asked. Murbul took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she considered.

"Another day, to be safe. She will need to rest frequently along the way."

Burguk nodded. "I am not looking forward to this," he confessed.

"Understandable," Murbul replied. "Larak is a barbarian."

"She has not only shamed him by her actions, but the chieftain of another stronghold," he mused. "He is not the kind to dismiss an offense he cannot hide behind his walls." Sighing, he shook his head. "I hope she is prepared for what punishment _he_ deals out."

"It cannot be worse than what you chose," Murbul said. Eying her son, she added, "She curses you _and_ your brother."

"Hmph," Burguk shrugged. "I am not concerned. Nor is he. The bitch has no teeth; I do not fear her bite." Glancing at the wise woman, he asked, "Do you think I did wrong? Was it too much?"

"Your father would have slain her," Murbul replied matter-of-factly. "You showed mercy. Do not be troubled."

Satisfied, he nodded. Gharol awaited him in the longhouse; they had a bit of unfinished business from the night before to attend to. Smiling, Burguk turned away from the gates and headed back to bed.


	22. Delivering a Message

Her heart as light as her footsteps, Lily walked the long road to Markarth with Ghorza on one side, and Ghorbash on the other. Though they were all girt for battle – Lily and Ghorza in leather, Ghorbash in heavy Orichalcum – she felt no fear. The sun was bright, the breeze fresh, the flowers in bloom...

"I feel as though I could fly," she sighed, stretching her arms and running ahead a few yards. Stopping to turn and gaze on her amused friends, she hugged herself. "I am free."

"You are that," Ghorbash chuckled. "As you have always been. The walls cannot hold you any longer, _ma_ 'Lily."

"I have watched you blossom these past few days," Ghorza smiled wanly. "You knew the truth all along; you only needed trusted friends to remind you."

"It would seem so," the young woman agreed. She fell into step between the Orcs again. "I missed it, I suppose. Exploring and seeing and doing." Gazing up at Ghorbash, she grinned, "With you at my side, I want to see all the Reach, and what lies beyond. Will you show it to me?"

"I would be honored," he replied. Her exuberance called to mind the spirited woman who came to Dushnikh Yal months ago, and faced his brother defiantly. _Give me a task, and I will prove myself to you_ , she'd said with more than words. He'd learned since then that Lily was not to be underestimated; not in honesty, nor in strength. His heart swelled with love for her.

"I do not mean to exclude you, Ghorza," Lily said solicitously. "But perhaps once the trial is behind us..."

"Yes, forgive me," the Orsimer woman chuckled humorlessly. "It has been... a difficult week. To learn my home and family were destroyed, then to see Urzog again, only to find..." She paused and closed her eyes, a pained expression on her face. "It is too many blows to face in too short a time."

"Moth will be a comfort to you," Ghorbash suggested.

"He will be," she agreed with a smile. "I think that, seeing the two of you together, I feel rather... inspired."

"Oh?" Lily said, perking up. The Orsimer's cheeks darkened and she ducked her head.

"I believe it is time I... spoke from my heart," Ghorza murmured. "Mulush is not likely to remain unclaimed forever."

"He should be honored that you favor him," Ghorbash grinned. "He likely feels the same, and is just too... shy to speak."

"Tell me of him," Lily begged eagerly. She hoped that recalling the woman's desired man might distract her from unpleasant memories of her fallen brother.

"I confess, I don't know very much about him," Ghorza began sheepishly. "I send him raw ore, he smelts it and returns the ingots to me. We rarely speak. But I suppose... if I am not imagining things, his voice seems... gentler with me than anyone else." Blushing hotly, she waved her hand dismissively. "Listen to me; like a foolish young girl, I am."

Ghorbash chuckled, watching the normally stoic, serious woman flutter with embarrassment. He sincerely hoped this Mulush lived up to Ghorza's infatuated vision of him; if he treated her with disrespect, Ghorbash would stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Moth for the needed reprimand.

"I think it's wonderful," Lily gushed, her own face aglow. "I would see a smile upon your face, dear Ghorza."

"As would I," Ghorbash added. "Let your worries go for a time. Enjoy life, and rest well." Glancing ahead, he frowned. The walls of Markarth never looked so grim and cold as they did now. Forcing himself to smile, he said, "Your prey awaits. Hunt him, but be gentle. A man wants to believe it is _he_ who does the hunting."

Smirking, Ghorza said, "Manly pride be damned. I'll not go to my grave unloved."

"Show no mercy, then," he laughed. "And may daedroth take him if he resists you."

Once they reached the furthest sentry point on the road rising up to Markarth's gate, nervousness assailed Lily, and she shielded herself from the sight of any guards by standing in Ghorbash's shadow. The Orsimer man was forcefully reminded that Lily believed herself a fugitive from the Jarl's justice. Deciding it would be less difficult for all concerned, they bade Ghorza farewell there at the crossroads, and watched her stride up the darkening road to her home, her passage intermittently illuminated by the sentry towers' fires.

"I hope he loves her," Lily breathed, peeking around Ghorbash's shoulder. "She deserves a good man."

"How could he not?" Ghorbash smiled, turning to her. "I regret having to wait almost two months to find out." Aiming them northward, he laid a companionable arm about her shoulders. "Daylight has gone. We should find a place to camp for the night."

"Yes," she agreed, falling into step with the Orsimer. "I am more tired than I thought I was. Isn't that strange?"

"There is not much room to walk in the stronghold," Ghorbash reasoned. "It will take some getting used to, walking for long distances." They continued on in companionable silence.

Yet when Ghorbash led her to a hollow concealed by bushes and undergrowth, with a fair view of the road, nervousness set in. The Orsimer's hands shook as he laid a campfire with the dry twigs and branches Lily brought him. He'd been thinking for miles of a way to ease her nerves with regards to those marks, and now that the moment had come to suggest his plan, he feared she would receive it wrong.

The scars upset her terribly, and were a constant reminder of her torment, her shame, her defeat. He'd hoped his idea might turn those beliefs around, allow her to hold her head up proudly, and be strong. It was more likely she'd resent his views and chastise him for being an unfeeling, callous bastard. Grunting with frustration, he acknowledged that the way Orsimer viewed such things, perhaps to a non-Orsimer, that is how it would seem. But how could he be anything else?

"Ghorbash?" Lily ventured when the Orc had been glowering at the feeble campfire and poking it ineffectually with a stick long enough. "Do you need more wood?"

Shaking himself, he met her gaze and swallowed with difficulty. "No, I have enough. We shouldn't... make it too large."

She narrowed her eyes. "Is something wrong?" Looking around their little hollow and beyond into the gathering darkness, she frowned. "Are we in danger here?"

"No," he quickly assured her. "The city walls are close enough to discourage any... unsavory folk from..." His shoulders sagged and he sighed. "Forgive me, _ma_ 'Lily. I have something on my mind. Something... I want to talk with you about."

"Oh?" she said, her brows rising with interest. "You seem nervous. What is it you want to talk about?" After he'd failed several attempts, Lily took the stick from his worrying hands and laid it across her knees. She gave him an expectant, and not unamused, look.

"It is about... the marks on your leg," he mumbled, avoiding her gaze. Even without looking at her, he knew she stiffened, and her smile disappeared. "When we were... together, and I... pulled up your skirt... you... were upset." He chanced a peek at her face; her head was bowed and her cheeks were dark.

"They are a reminder of my shame," she murmured. "I did not want you to see them. Not in that... that moment."

"That is what I guessed," he nodded. "But _ma_ 'Lily... they are not marks of shame. Not to me." She met his gaze, a mix of curiosity and dread on her face. "To me, they are a warrior's scars, taken in battle. They tell me that you endured torture and torment, yet your will was too great to break. They tell of a woman who faced her captors with... with bravery, knowing she would one day overcome them. When that day came, when the opportunity to put her plan into motion arrived, she made them pay blood price for every mark upon her, and they paid a thousandfold."

As he spoke, Ghorbash's posture straightened and his expression became proud. He bared his teeth in a fierce, admiring grin. "You bested them, _ma_ 'Lily. They could not finish you. They _cannot_ destroy you. Though you were not born Orsimer, your deeds are worthy of Malacath. I would be proud to call you wife, if you would have me."

Lily blinked with stunned surprise for a moment, utterly speechless. Ghorbash seemed equally taken aback, as if he hadn't expected himself to say that last part. Huffing out a startled breath, the Orsimer gasped a few times.

"Lily... I... I hope I do not offend..."

"No," she quickly replied, shaking her head uncertainly. "You... you want me... as... Not just a... but..."

"Wife, yes," he supplied, nervously clearing his throat. "I confess, I wasn't quite prepared... My tongue just... ran away with me."

"So you don't really...," she began, looking crestfallen.

"I do!" he insisted, hastening to kneel before her and take her hands. "Malacath bear witness to my oath," he growled seriously. "I give to you my hand, my heart, my soul, Lily. If your heart also beats for me, I am yours to claim."

Gripping his hands firmly, she searched his face, looking for... something. Whatever she sought – a lie, a jest, deceit – could not be found. "Ghorbash," she breathed, "I accept."

A happy grin spread across Ghorbash's face, and he laid his head upon her lap with relief. He felt as though he'd run a mile. They were weighty words he hadn't expected to utter just yet. But how could he not? Speaking of her triumph over her captors filled him with great pride, and perhaps made him forget caution.

He'd wanted to couch his proposal in different words, speak it in a different place. But he was not a patient man, any more than he'd been a patient youth. He needed to know her answer, and now he had it. The rest was simply formality.

For Lily, the initial thrill of being asked waned swiftly, and she stared into the darkness enclosing them in a small pocket of light. The fire crackled in the silence. Her breath huffed as uncertainty assailed her. "What... what happens now?"

Raising his head, Ghorbash took a deep breath and smiled. "Nothing truly different, except now, we have an understanding."

Her brow pinched with worry, she whispered, "Of... of what?" The Orsimer moved to sit beside her on the fallen log, still holding her hands.

"You and I will be wed," he said softly. "When the time is right. I think that now, it is not. The stronghold is in turmoil, and the trial looms. I would rather speak my vows before Malacath without such... distractions. Do you agree?"

"Yes," Lily sighed, relieved. "I apologize, Ghorbash. I just... I suppose my experience is limited, in matters of marriage. I have held... girlish ideas of wedding and bedding to my breast, but no... true understanding of either. Certainly no Orsimeri notions." Frowning, she ventured uncertainly, "Will I be... one of your wives? There will be others?"

"No," he chuckled. "I do not rule a stronghold; I am no chieftain, nor do I wish to be. I will take only one wife, and that is you, Lily. Burguk understands this, and has long since given his blessing to my aims. It is possible that when we talked of it, he didn't quite believe I would win you." Grinning impishly, he added, "He can't go back on his word now."

"Does this mean we can stay in Dushnikh Yal?" she asked hopefully. Ghorbash nodded.

"I think it would be wise if I built a hut for us, within the walls," he suggested. "One we may call our own."

Lily squeezed his rough hands. " _We_ shall build it, you and I. Then it will be truly _ours_."

They gazed fondly at one another for several moments, then Lily's face became serious, and she slowly released his hands. "If I am to wed you, then... you will see... often. I must get used to it."

"Your scars?"

Nodding, Lily reached with shaking hands for the kilt of her leather armor, and slowly raised it. For a moment, Ghorbash marveled at her pale skin, contrasting so greatly with the dark burnished leather. Her thick hide boots reached her knees, and the kilt hung almost as low. He watched with eager anticipation as more of her thigh was revealed, until he began to see the marks. Lily hesitated, as if struggling against humiliation and fear. A whimper escaped her, then in one swift movement, she pulled the leather back entirely, exposing her thigh nearly to the hip. Gasping for breath, she gnawed her lip and squeezed her eyes shut, loathe to see the look of revulsion on his face.

Ghorbash stared at the neat row of scars for a long time, absorbing what they meant not only to him, but what he guessed they must mean to her. Many thoughts crowded in his mind – anger at what was done, confusion over _why_ it was done, indignation that she endured this sort of branding over and above what was being counted, and renewed admiration for her strength of will.

His face showed a mix of sadness and pride when he raised her chin and urged her to look at him. "Lily, my love, you are a force to be reckoned with." Her brow pinched, and he smiled. "I know I will never fully understand what you endured, but know this: I admire your courage. I admire your patience, so much greater than mine. I look at these scars, meant to degrade you and remind you of your torment, and I think how wrong they were. They did not humble you; they did not defeat you. They did not bring you down even one notch. You stand here, strong and sure, while your tormenters lie broken and rotting." Firming his mouth determinedly, he laid his hand on her bare thigh. Her slight flinch made him falter, but only for a moment. "These scars tell me you _cannot_ be defeated."

"You do not... think them... ugly?" she breathed worriedly. He shook his head.

"Their makers were ugly. There is nothing about _you_ that is ugly."

Lily closed her eyes against tears as she whispered, "I look at them... and I see pain. I see... horrors." She roughly brushed stray tears from her cheeks. "Perhaps I was not defeated, as you say, but... I was... crushed beneath the weight." Swallowing a hard lump in her throat with difficulty, she bowed her head. "I wept... and cried out. I begged for mercy, and they laughed." Opening her eyes, Lily traced one of the cuts with a shaking finger. "Only Phane... took me alone. The others... Two, and three, together... Sometimes four."

"Lily," Ghorbash murmured, taking her other hand. His voice was a gentle rumbling growl, yet not discouraging, as if to reassure her that he was with her. Reliving those weeks in captivity left her feeling alone and frightened; his voice seemed to chase away the shadows, and remind her that she was no longer in that place. She held his hand tightly, and drew upon his readily offered strength.

"When I look at these scars, this is what I see," she breathed. "Ugly, cruel men, laughing all around me. Pushing me to the floor. Holding me down. Bending my arms back so I could not scratch their eyes. Covering my mouth so my shrieks would not hurt their ears. And I feel... the memory of pain. Of being helpless, and beyond hope. Of begging for an end." Slowly, she raised her tear-filled, haunted eyes to his. "I would rather see what you see."

Struggling with the ill feelings her words brought, Ghorbash nodded grimly. "In time, I hope you do. I hope... all memory of that time fades. But my love, if you need my ears as well as my arm, you have them." Smiling a little, he added, "I have noticed that when Gharol or Arob are sad, and the other is not around, they will confide in Burguk. He has advised me that a woman wants an ear, not an answer."

"He is wise," Lily laughed. Then she took a deep breath and sighed, wiping the last of her tears away. "You strengthen me, Ghorbash. Just by being here. I feel brave enough to venture out, and it makes me feel alive."

"I will always be at your side, in all things," he assured her, his voice gone rough with emotion. "Now I believe we should rest. The way to Karthwasten isn't far from here, but I don't know what sort of accommodations for travelers they have there. It's a mining town; that's all I know."

"So we may be obliged to move on after the sword is given," Lily nodded. "What is Lash like?"

"Proud, like her parents," Ghorbash replied as he unpacked his bedroll. "Not given to emotional displays of any kind that I can recall. Not even when she left, and she was made quite angry enough, I assure you. Yet she has never, in my recollection, lived up to her name." Chuckling, he glanced at Lily. "I suspect she will look over the sword, nod, and thank us. I don't expect much conversation at all."

"But you are her uncle," she protested. Laying her own bedroll next to his, she sat on the pallet and gave the Orsimer a quizzical look. "And she hasn't seen you in many months. Shouldn't she be happy?"

"We shall see," Ghorbash shrugged. "I wasn't there the day she left; maybe she won't be angry with me... very much." His brow furrowed briefly. Seeing Lily about to inquire after his troubled expression, he shook his head. "Sleep now. We should see her and find out her mood by midday tomorrow."

* * *

Lily's first impression of Karthwasten's citizens as she and Ghorbash climbed the steeply inclined roadway was that they were as cold and grim as Markarth. Only a few were about in the common area among the shelters, all of which seemed roughshod and poor. The largest appeared to be a meeting place, with a broad side porch and steps leading to the front door. A cookfire burned in the commons, with a cooking spit holding several stew pots over the flames. A few miners clustered around the fire, stirring and preparing the midday meal for their fellows.

"Is she here?" Lily whispered to Ghorbash as she scanned the small group, looking for any who might be Lash.

"I don't see her," he replied. "She might be in the mine. I'll ask." The Orsimer approached one of the men and nodded a greeting. "I've come from Dushnikh Yal, looking for Lash. Where can I find her?"

The Nord man narrowed his eyes at Ghorbash and took his measure in a provocative manner. "Who might you be?"

"Ghorbash the Iron Hand," he growled. "Is Lash here?"

"Aye," the man replied. "She's down the mine. Be comin' up soon. You want words with her, you better talk to Mordyn first. He'll be in his office." Gesturing to the largest building, he added with a smirk, "Mind your tongue. He runs this mine for the Jarl, and he has... an investment in Lash."

Ghorbash nodded curtly, not liking the man's tone or his words. In his youth, he might have wiped that sly smile off the man's face, and likely ruined all hope of getting to see his niece. He knew enough about mining towns to understand that regardless of personal strife among the workers, an outsider looking to cause trouble rallied them into a united force not easily broken. Swallowing his retort, Ghorbash led Lily to the office and knocked on the door.

The man who answered, presumably Mordyn, was a short Breton man in his thirties, by Ghorbash's best guess. Short dark hair framed a youthful face showing the light stubble of one who has neglected his grooming for a few days. He squinted up at Ghorbash as though he hadn't seen the light of day in some while.

"Can I help you?" Mordyn asked politely.

"I've come looking for Lash," the Orsimer replied. "I was told to speak with you first."

"Oh yes, come in," the Breton replied, gesturing them inside. "Forgive the mess. The Jarl is sending Thalmor auditors to check into our output. I can't seem to put my finger on the right ledger from two years ago..." Distracted for a moment, Mordyn looked around the one-room space in bewilderment.

Lily furrowed her brows as she scanned the room. There was a small table with two chairs, a rumpled bed that looked as though it had been recently occupied by two people. A desk in one corner with a cheerfully burning oil lamp was covered in scraps of paper and quills, a pot of ink, leather-bound journals, and a counting box. A bookshelf near it held books haphazardly stacked here and there. Several more piles of books littered the floor.

Most of the room was in shadows; the only other lamp was next to the bed on a small table. It was lit, but burnt low. Windows on either side of the front door let in some light, but not nearly enough for Mordyn's purposes, in Lily's opinion.

"Why would Jarl Igmund want an accounting now?" she asked curiously. Mordyn started as if he'd already forgotten they were there.

"I have no idea," he replied. "Who knows why the cursed Thalmor do anything?" Catching himself, his eyes widened and he stared at Lily. "Um... you aren't... That is to say..."

"I'm not offended," she reassured him with a smile. "I've no love for the Thalmor, I assure you."

Huffing a breath of relief, Mordyn sank into a chair. "Thank Zenithar. I forget myself too often." Then he popped back to his feet. "Where are my manners? Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Mead? Wine?"

"Lash," Ghorbash replied succinctly. "I've come looking for her."

Mordyn seemed to transform, becoming instantly guarded. Lily fancied that if she'd begun rifling his papers, he would not have leapt to the defense quite so suddenly.

"What is your business with her?" he asked tightly.

"I come from Dushnikh Yal, on behalf of Chief Burguk, her father, and Gharol, her mother," the Orsimer answered. "I am Ghorbash, her uncle. Where is she?"

"Not _here_ ," Mordyn replied. "She's in the mine at this hour. Soon to come up for midday. What is your business with her?"

"What is yours?" Ghorbash snarled. "One of the men outside said you have an 'investment' in her. What does that mean?"

Swallowing nervously, Mordyn's eyes darted about, and he moistened his lips. "Uncle, you say?" he muttered. "I'm not quite sure what to..."

Suddenly, the door banged open and an Orsimer woman barged into the room. Her chest heaved as though she'd sprinted, and a fine sheen of sweat was on her brow. Her bare arms and rough-hewn clothing were covered in dust.

"Ghorbash," she snapped. "Why are you here?"

"Lash," her uncle said, nodding his chin in greeting. "Your parents sent me. I've come..."

"I'm not coming back," Lash interrupted hotly. "You've come for nothing. You might as well leave now."

Frowning, Ghorbash narrowed his eyes. "I'm not leaving. I have a message for you. Lily?"

Nodding, Lily laid her pack on the floor and unstrapped the wrapped sword from its side. Not knowing quite what to say, she held the weapon out to the Orsimer woman. Lash's dark eyes flicked from Lily's face to the gift, unsure what to make of either.

Gingerly, Lash took the sword, and laid it on the table to unwrap it. Leaning on her hands, she stared at the bright, keen blade for several moments without speaking.

"More light," she said quietly. Mordyn immediately set about lighting another lamp, then set it on the table near the sword. Lash slowly drew a finger down the length of the blade, then caressed the hilt. Her eyes never stopped moving as she drank in every detail of her mother's message.

Finally, she straightened and looked at Ghorbash. He was startled to see her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "My decision has not changed."

"You are welcome home, to stay or visit," he told her gently. "No demands, no trades. They simply miss you."

Nodding, Lash looked once more at the blade. "I can see that much, at least. Words were spoken... that cannot be unsaid. Or forgotten."

"Can they be forgiven?"

Taking a deep breath, Lash replied, "Perhaps."

"There is another message," Ghorbash ventured. "Do you remember the miner Oglub?"

Shaking herself, Lash turned her attention to her uncle. "A bit. What about him?"

"We learned his real name is Urzog, and he betrayed the stronghold Bagol," he said grimly. "He hid in Dushnikh Yal to escape justice for years. In two moons, the chieftains of the four largest strongholds will meet to determine his fate. You are not required to be there, but... Burguk and Gharol would like you to come. You were as affected by his deceit as we all were."

"I remember... stories," Lash murmured. "The chieftain there... Murbul said he had some very young children." Unconsciously, her hand strayed to her belly, and the other went to her damp forehead. She swayed a little. Mordyn hastened to her side and put an arm around her shoulders.

"Easy now," he said soothingly, and helped her sit in a chair. "You've worked too hard today." Ghorbash watched with growing suspicion as the Breton fetched a cup of water and held it to Lash's lips. "There we are."

"You are lovers," the Orsimer man observed evenly. He met his niece's gaze, and saw a good bit of her old defiance flare. Mordyn straightened and stared at Ghorbash fearfully, yet he made no attempt to deny the accusation.

"Mind your own affairs," Lash snapped.

"Is this the investment?" Ghorbash snarled, rounding on the Breton. Mordyn recoiled, wincing at the Orc's words, but held his position at Lash's side. "She lies with you? In exchange for what? The right to work in your mine?"

Before Lash could leap to her feet in fury, Mordyn gripped her shoulder, holding her down. "Get out of here," he told Ghorbash with curled lip. "You've delivered your messages, now go."

"Not until I know what is going on here."

Lily saw their angry faces, but more telling were the touches. Mordyn's hand on Lash's shoulder was not just restraining. She saw his fingers flex as he squeezed reassuringly, and his thumb stroke gently. She saw Lash turn slightly toward his hand, as if she commonly rested her cheek against his arm when he touched her in that way. Only the intrusion of her and Ghorbash was preventing Lash and Mordyn from being too demonstrative of their affection.

"Oh my," she breathed, and reached out to grip Ghorbash's arm. He shot her a look that became confused when he saw her smile. "There is nothing sinister at play here, Ghorbash. They are lovers, true, because they are _in_ love."

"Yes, well... yes," Mordyn said awkwardly, wrong-footed by her statement. "I am, at least. I think Lash simply... puts up with me."

"You are a trial," Lash grumbled, yet there was a hint of fondness in her voice. "Now you see why I can't come back. I have my own life now, and Dushnikh Yal is not a part of it."

Ghorbash blinked rapidly, trying to think of what to say. "So... this 'investment.' What does it mean?"

"Nothing," Mordyn said too quickly, and too innocently. "Obviously, my affection for her. She has a special place in my life, in my heart. For a man of numbers such as myself, perhaps the men laughingly call such a thing an investment..."

"Stop jabbering, you fool," Lash growled. Meeting Ghorbash's amused gaze steadily, she stated bluntly, "I carry his child."

"Yes, um... and there is that... possible explanation," the Breton man muttered with embarrassment.

"Oh, I am so happy for you!" Lily cried, rushing to the Orsimer woman and embracing her. Lash stiffened under the unexpected assault, and stared wide-eyed at Ghorbash. Her uncle laughed.

"I am also glad," he chuckled. "And that explains why Lash the Unfeeling had a tear in her eye mere moments ago."

"I had no such thing," Lash snarled indignantly. "It was sweat."

"Sure it was," Ghorbash grinned. "Your parents will be happy for you..."

"Tell them nothing," she hissed, rising to her feet in spite of her lover's efforts. "I don't want them coming here and chasing him off. It is no more their business now than it was then. Less so, in fact."

"What do you mean?" the Orsimer asked, exchanging an equally baffled look with Mordyn.

"There was a merchant," Lash sighed, sitting down again. She leaned on her elbow and rubbed her forehead. "I apologize, Mordyn. I should've told you before."

"Told me what?"

Drawing a breath, Lash growled, "His name was Granius."

"That slimey Imperial?" Ghorbash blurted, his lip curled with distaste. Lash glared at him with annoyance.

"He was kind to me, and he _listened_ ," she snapped. "Something my father _and_ my mother would not do."

"He was a conniving, cunning, serpent-tongued bastard," her uncle observed. "I did not trust him far enough to throw him."

"So I learned myself," Lash replied quietly. "He talked his way into my bed, almost into my heart. I left the stronghold to be with him..."

"My apologies," Ghorbash interrupted contritely. Whatever his own opinion might be, it was evident that Lash's was different at one time. It would be rude of him to chastise her further for poor judgment when it was clear she'd already been hurt enough. "I didn't realize..."

" _No one_ did," she snapped. "Except Shel. She... caught us, out beyond the walls. I thought we were alone, unobserved."

"Shel?" Lily said, startled. She exchanged a look with Ghorbash.

"She told me my father – the _chieftain_ – would be displeased beyond reckoning if he knew I bedded one who isn't Orsimer," Lash hissed sarcastically.

"He might have been, at the time, but things have changed," Ghorbash assured her. "He would be pleased to know you are happy. So long as this man is treating you with respect..." He leveled a pointed look at Mordyn, who straightened with dignity.

"Of course I am. She is the light of my life," the man announced. "When nothing else makes sense, Lash does. She makes me look beyond figures and calculations, weights and measures, resources and quotas, and see the men and women who delve, who carry, who sweat. And when I forget what it is to be a simple man, she reminds me." He looked at the Orsimeri woman with fierce love. "I adore her."

"As you should," Ghorbash nodded approvingly. Turning back to Lash, he smiled. "You needn't worry about your parents' feelings on this matter. Burguk has changed a great deal."

"Hmph. Has he," Lash growled. "Shel told me that were my affair to come to light, I would be shipped off immediately. Likely to _her_ father. I'd sooner be mauled by a sabercat."

"Shel is... There is another matter you should know," Ghorbash began delicately. "There is no gentle way of putting it: she used her knowledge of Oglub's betrayal to... coerce him into... She felt she was failing to conceive with Burguk, but wished to give him a son, so she... used Oglub."

Lash's mouth fell open, shocked at the third wife's audacity. Then her shock turned to fury. "She had the cheek to claim I would shame my father, shame my home, shame my _race_ , and she blackmailed a murderer into _fucking_ her?"

"In a nutshell, yes, that's what she did," Ghorbash confirmed. Taking the other chair and moving it before her, he sat down and held both her hands. "Lash, your father has seen reason, and cast her out. She has been punished, and he likely escorts her back to her father at this moment. Perhaps she told you what she believed, or she lied to cause strife. It doesn't matter now. When you feel you can face them again, come home. Burguk and Gharol both want to see you." Glancing at her belly, he noted a slight bump, and his chest swelled with pleasure. "They will want to know their grandchild as well."

"They will call it half-breed," she protested.

"Then they will say the same of mine," Ghorbash chuckled. "I have asked Lily to be my wife, and she has accepted. Burguk – your _father_ – has consented to our match, and welcomes us to remain in Dushnikh Yal."

"Lily?" Lash said questioningly, and looked at the Nord woman who came with her uncle. Looking the slight woman up and down, she snorted. "She's half your age, old man."

"Not _half_ ," he grumbled indignantly. "I'm not as old as I look."

"You have at least thirty years under your grizzled hide," she observed. "I wouldn't put her at twenty."

"I'm eighteen," Lily supplied. "And I don't care how old he is."

"Well, young lass, let me give you some advice," the Orsimer woman said. "An Orsimer man's pride is worn like a thick armor. You can polish it to a shine, if that is your way, or you can cut pieces from it to gird yourself."

"What if I do some of both?" Lily asked, arching her brow. "I would respect him, yet tell him when he offends."

"Then you are wise beyond your years," Lash replied.

"Certainly more than Shel," Ghorbash observed with a sneer. "She did both as well, but always for a vile purpose."

Closing her eyes, Lash nodded. "I will... consider coming to the stronghold for the trial."

"Bring Mordyn," her uncle advised. "If you choose to come. He is welcome also."

"I will leave it up to Lash to decide," the Breton man demured. "I don't want to be the cause of any... discomfort."

"Trust me," Ghorbash laughed, "with Yamarz and Larak in the same stronghold, and all the strangeness surrounding Mauhulakh, there is nothing you can do to make the visit any more strained and uncomfortable."


End file.
